


My Father's Daughter

by Maisey2k10



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Humor, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maisey2k10/pseuds/Maisey2k10
Summary: The summer after her fifth year, Hermione is attacked in Diagon Alley, and as a result, she learns more about herself than she ever thought possible. Like how her parents aren’t really her parents and her biological father is actually the feared Dark Lord. Rated M for language, violence and sexual content. Triad fic! HGxDMxTN pairing! Writing in Progress! Harry, Dumbledore and Weasley bashing (except the Twins)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott
Comments: 24
Kudos: 160





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own canon characters or events, they belong to J.K Rowling, everything else is all me. I am not making a profit from posting this fanfic. Rated for language, violence and sexual content. Harry, Dumbledore and Weasley bashing (except the Twins)
> 
> Page count: 11

**Malfoy Manor**

She lay on the floor in a pool of her own sweat and tears. Her tongue and bottom lip throbbing from holding back the sounds that threatened to escape. Her throat burning from the screams that finally broke free. She looked up from the cold marble floor to the throne-like chair, raised several feet off the ground in front of her.

It was where Lord Voldemort was lounging, looking down at her with a smirk on his uncharacteristically pale and wax-like face. His red eyes glinted with promises of pain and death, his two slits for a nose, remarkably similar to that of a reptile’s. His skeleton-like fingers held his ash wand in one hand and the other tapped against the armrest.

She was surrounded by Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange gripping her wand and cackling after the last Cruciatus Curse Hermione had endured.

One thought entered her mind. _How did I get here?_

~000~000~000~

**12 Grimmauld Place**

_A pounding headache. Aching muscles. Sore joints. Heavy limbs. She felt awful._

_Her eyes slowly fluttered open, before shutting tightly against the harsh, blinding light in the room and she groaned in pain._

_“SHE’S AWAKE!” she winced._

_“Sorry, ‘Mione,” a voice muttered. Footsteps clambered against the wooden floorboards and suddenly came to a stop._

_“HERMIONE!” several voices yelled. She winced again and groaned._

_“Shut up, you idiots,” the first voice hissed. Hermione recognised it to be Harry’s._

_She slowly opened her eyes and blinked a few times, getting used to the light in the room. She looked around to see the room filled with Harry and Weasleys, by her count, everyone except the three eldest sons._

_A glass of water was lifted to her mouth and she drank it down greedily._

_“What happened?” her voice came out hoarse; it was obvious that she had been out for a while._

_“The best we can tell, you were attacked, multiple attackers,” Harry spoke softly. She looked around the room to see everyone looking at her sadly. “Fred and George found you.”_

_She looked up at them and they gave her small smiles, nothing like their usual contagious, joyous ones._

_“Thank you,” she said to them._

_“Don’t mention it, Granger, we just wish we could’ve gotten to you sooner,” Fred spoke; she was still the only person that could tell them apart._

_“This could’ve been prevented,” George spoke quietly._

_“Do you remember what happened?” Mrs. Weasley asked her worriedly._

_Hermione frowned. “I was walking down Diagon Alley; I needed to get a book for a side project I’m working on. I was making my way towards The Leaky Cauldron and then...everything goes black.”_

_“You can’t remember anything after that?” Mr. Weasley spoke._

_She shook her head. “No, nothing.”_

_“We found you in an alleyway between two shops in Knockturn Alley,” Fred piped up._

_“Knockturn Alley?”_

_George nodded. “Yeah, some of the ingredients we need for our products aren’t exactly legal,” he said sheepishly as his mother glared at him._

_“We heard a noise and followed it, we found you on the floor, you were barely breathing,” Fred spoke. “We apparated you back to our shop and we floo'd you here. That was a week ago.”_

_“I’ve been out for a week?” they nodded. “How badly was I injured?” They all shared a look, obviously, they didn’t want to tell her. “You either tell me or I set Kreacher on you, he would do it you know?”_

_“She plays dirty,” George commented with a laugh._

_“I like it,” Fred grinned; Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smile from playing at her lips._

_“Your injuries were extensive,” Mr. Weasley provided. “As the twins said, when you arrived you were barely breathing. Madame Pomphrey was floo called and she informed us of your injuries. You had a broken left arm and a broken right leg, along with a broken collar bone. They should be healed now. You had several cracked ribs and a punctured left lung, you had internal bleeding and your spleen was ruptured.”_

_Hermione stared in horror and disbelief._

_“How?”_

_“We’re not entirely sure. From the diagnostic spells only minor uses of magic were used, simply a Stunning Charm and a Binding Spell. We believe that everything else was caused the muggle way.”_

_Hermione frowned. “Why would someone not use magic to hurt me?”_

_“That’s a good question. Firstly, your duelling and magical capabilities surpass anyone far older than yourself; it would be foolish to go up against you using magical methods. Secondly, not using magic makes this attack seem more personal, the injuries inflicted upon you were meant to cause you pain and shock the rest of us. Using muggle methods is far more brutal. Thirdly, we believe that beater’s bats were used.”_

_“Beater’s bats?”_

_“You have several bruises; the shapes match that of a beater’s bat.”_

_“Bruises?”_

_A mirror was summoned and she looked at herself and gasped in horror. Her entire left cheek was covered in yellow-green bruises, her arms had bruises in the shape of handprints, she looked at her stomach to see several large bruises that did look to be in the shape of a beater’s bat and she had several bruises and scrapes on her legs._

_“We have some paste that’ll clear those bruises up for you in a day or two,” George offered._

_“We would’ve given it to you sooner except we weren’t sure if you were allergic to anything,” Fred said._

_“Yeah, it wouldn’t be good to give you something to help you, only to accidentally kill you from anaphylactic shock,” George grinned._

_“Thank you, I’m not allergic to anything.”_

_“In that case,” Fred pulled out a white tub from his robe pocket and put it on the bedside table. “The pain will fade immediately but the bruises will take a good two to three days to heal, your bruises are quite nasty deep tissue bruises, we haven’t seen anything like them since that Quidditch match our fourth year.”_

_George winced. “That must’ve hurt.”_

_“I’d say so, Wood was unconscious for two days,” Fred rolled his eyes at his twin and Hermione gave a small laugh._

_“Do we know who did this to me?”_

_“No, but we don’t have a single doubt it was Death Eaters, there were multiple attackers, the extent of your injuries couldn’t be caused by only one person,” Mr. Weasley spoke. “We have The Order looking for leads as we speak.”_

_“Clear the room, Merlin, Miss. Granger, keep going this way and you’ll have your own section in the hospital wing.”_

_“It’s nice to see you too, Madame Pomphrey,” Hermione replied._

_“You children are going to send me to an early grave,” she muttered and Hermione chuckled. “Didn’t I say for you to clear the room?” Madame Pomphrey glared at everyone and the room was quickly vacated._

_~000~000~000~_

_Two weeks past of bed rest. Her injuries healed nicely, but Madam Pomphrey didn’t allow Hermione to leave her room until two weeks later._

_In those two weeks, she had weird dreams every night. A woman with long blonde hair and grass green eyes. In her dreams she knew this woman; she spoke to her, whispered things, stories about how she was her mother, her real mother. About who her biological father was. But Hermione knew they were just dreams, her biological parents were Jean and Richard Granger. Not this flawless, beautiful woman she saw every night in her slumber._

_Each night a small amount of doubt started niggling at her. Like a small part of her believed the dream woman’s words to be true. Each night it grew. Until one night she couldn’t sleep and she decided to head down to the library to find a good book to calm her._

_As she walked down the stairs she heard whispering, hisses. She stopped, shook her head and then continued walking. She heard it again. She frowned and decided to follow the sound of the hissing. It brought her to a door that opened up to a small cupboard._

_The cupboard had dirty blankets littering the floor, many odd trinkets and broken items, but what caught her attention was the silver locket hanging from a hook on the wall._

_She reached out and removed it, holding it in her hands. It was a locket with an engraving of two snakes entwined with a large ‘S’ on either side. She ran her hand over the locket and her fingertips tingled. It was whispering to her, she didn’t know what possessed her to take the locket, but she did._

_She slipped it on over her head and it rested in the valley of her breasts. With her previous destination forgotten she headed back to her room and fell asleep, having one more dream that would change the course of her future forever._

~000~000~000~

**Malfoy Manor**

“Why did you come here, Miss. Granger?” Voldemort asked in a voice that sounded far more charming than she expected it to. “I have heard many things regarding your intelligence.” His eyes flickered over to Draco Malfoy, who stood beside his mother. He refused to look at her, though he didn’t look to be in much better condition than herself, to be honest.

“For someone so bright, you did a tremendously stupid thing in coming here this night.”

“I had to talk to you,” she rasped, her throat sore from the screams that been pulled from her. He raised a nonexistent eyebrow. “I have something important to discuss with you.”

“Is that so? And what could you, a Mudblood, wish to discuss with me?”

“I’m not a Muggleborn,” she muttered, but he heard her.

“Your parents are Muggles, are they not?”

“I thought they were, I’ve recently discovered that I was adopted. My mother was a witch and my father a wizard, I don’t know his blood status; at the very least I’m a Half-blood,” she said, her voice shaky from all the screaming.

“No matter,” he waved his hand. “What is it you wish to discuss with me?”

“I suggest you cast a Silencing Charm, you’re not going to want others hearing what I have to tell you.”

He looked at her with a bored expression, but simply flicked his wand and she felt a tingle wash over her.

“It is done, now speak.”

“Well...” she slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, when she did her locket slipped out from underneath her clothing, coming into full view of Voldemort.

His eyes widened before a look of pure fury overtook him. Before she even saw it coming he was up from his throne, pulling her up from the ground and gripping her shoulders tightly.

“Where did you get that locket?” he hissed in her face, his grip on her shoulders tightening and sure to leave bruises.

“It’s mine,” she replied, her voice shook.

“No, it’s not, it’s mine, where did you get it?”

“No, I swear it’s mine, it told me,” she said fearfully, he brutally dropped her back to the floor and headed to his throne, as fell in a pile of aching limbs on the marble ground.

He made a series of hisses and the doors slammed open, a large snake bigger than anything Hermione had ever seen slithered into the room. A few more hisses from Voldemort and the snake slowly made its way towards Hermione. She looked around in a panic to see everyone staring at her with evil smiles on their faces; it was obvious that no one was going to help her. Despite the Silencing Charm around them, it was clear to the Death Eaters that she had said something that their feared Master didn’t like.

The snake lunged for her and she panicked. Just before the snake could give her the fatal bite, she opened her mouth to scream, but rather than a scream, a series of hisses left her. The snake immediately backed away from her, retreating and stopping at the side of Voldemort’s throne.

The Death Eaters were watching in confusion; why would their Master stop his pet from killing the girl?

Voldemort, however, was looking at Hermione in complete disbelief; he gripped the armrests on his throne, feeling his fingernails biting into the wood, proving it wasn’t a dream. The girl had just spoken Parseltongue!

He immediately shot out of his seat and stalked towards her. Uncharacteristically, he squatted down in front of her, much to the surprise of everyone; their Master had never so much as nodded in greeting to them, let alone gotten onto his knees.

He put his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him, tears were flowing down her face, but that didn’t faze him; he wouldn’t be The Dark Lord if tears made him merciful.

“Who are you? How did you get my locket? Why can you speak Parseltongue?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you before you sent that _thing_ you call a pet to kill me,” she sniffled and she looked into his eyes. “The locket told me it was mine, it spoke to me, I can hear it now, whispering, hissing.” He watched her for any tells of lying, but he could see none.

“Let me see it,” he ordered. She moved her hands to her locket, slipped it over her head and handed it to him. He looked it over, scrutinising it, looking for anything that would prove it wasn’t his locket, the locket he had encased part of his soul into decades ago. But it was.

“This is _my_ locket.”

“Maybe it was once before, but now it’s mine.”

She reached up to touch it. When she did he felt a tingle go through the locket and it went straight through him, making him shiver. It felt as though it were pulling at his magic, nudging at the very core of his power.

“When I touch it my magic tingles. I feel free...powerful...understood. It speaks to me, I feel calm, I feel like I’m home,” she spoke quietly. She then pulled her hand away. “I wasn’t entirely sure I could speak Parseltongue, I just thought it was a dream, that I was imagining things,” she frowned. “But I remember my second year, the time of the basilisk attacks, I could sometimes hear hissing coming from the pipes.”

“I will ask you one last time, who are you?”

“Do you even have to ask?” she asked softly. “Look at me, _really_ look at me.”

He did. He looked at her face. She had porcelain skin, almost flawless if it wasn’t for the small scar on her right temple. When she had been brought to him, her mahogany hair fell down to the middle of her back in sleek curls, but they were now stuck to her neck with sweat after her torture session. Her thin pink lips were pulled into a straight line and he didn’t doubt she had a perfect white smile. She was petite but not at the same time, her confidence, intelligence and magical capability more than made up for her five-foot-six small frame, making her seem bigger than she actually was. Even he had to admit she was rather pretty, but what had him mesmerised were her eyes. Her deep, dark chocolate brown eyes, he had seen those eyes before, staring back at him in the mirror all those years ago, when he, himself, was a teenager.

He pulled back from her, stood up and cancelled the Silencing Charm. When he did he heard murmurs and whispers, his followers were obviously very confused with his strange behaviour.

“Leave now,” he ordered in a dark tone.

Without hesitation, they all turned and fled out of the ballroom, but making sure to stay close by in case they were called.

The doors shut and he flicked his wand again, casting another Silencing Charm to give them privacy.

“You have similar traits as I when I was a teenager,” he commented nonchalantly.

“If that’s your way of admitting that I look like you, then yes, I agree.”

He eyed her carefully. “You mentioned that you were adopted, your mother and father both magical?”

She nodded. “I didn’t know I was adopted, no one ever told me. I’ve recently been having strange dreams. Dreams in which a woman was claiming to be my biological mother, and she explained that she met my biological father on a trip to Albania.” His eyes widened a fraction, but he otherwise remained unfazed. “She showed me what he looked like; of course I just thought it was a figment of my imagination. That was until one night I couldn’t sleep and I decided to go to the library and retrieve a book. I heard whispers and followed them; they lead me to the locket. I headed back to bed and had another dream, this time I was given a name. Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

His eyes widened further.

“I had heard this name before, but I wasn’t sure where and so I asked Dumbledore. He stared at me in horror, as if just realising something. He looked like he wanted to murder me before he left the room. He refuses to speak to me, to even look at me, as if I’m an abomination. I found an old Hogwarts yearbook in the library and I found the name and saw the photo that was attached, and I wasn’t blind to the fact we shared certain characteristics. That coupled with the locket and the apparent Parseltongue had me worried, worried that my dreams weren’t actually dreams, but the truth. The truth that Tom Marvolo Riddle is my birth father.”

“How old are you?”

“I will be seventeen in September,” she answered. “Eighteen if you count the use of a timer turner for an entire school year.”

He looked intrigued by her words but didn’t ask her to elaborate further.

“I do not have any children.”

“What about the trip to Albania? This woman in my dream told me all about it, about you.”

“Describer her appearance to me. Did she divulge a name?” he asked her quickly.

“Blonde hair, pale skin and green eyes with high cheekbones. She said her name was Clarissa.”

“She would’ve told me.”

“So it’s true? I’m not just losing my mind? Besides, she told me she tried to find you, she tried to contact you, but the owls she sent always returned with the letters unopened. In the end she travelled to Britain because that’s where she knew you resided. She was seven months pregnant when she came here. She spent a month trying to track you down but failed. A month later she went into labour, there were some complications and she died, I was put up for adoption in the Muggle World, apparently, it was safer in the Muggle World in 1979.”

“It is not possible.”

“We could cast a Lineage Detecting Charm, with your magical knowledge and capabilities, I don’t doubt you know one, or have access to a book that contains one.”

He watched her carefully, before slowly raising his wand and waving it in a complicated motion and muttering something under his breath.

There was an orange glow before it disappeared and he stared at her in disbelief, and she mimicked his actions.

“They match, you’re my biological father and, I, your daughter,” she whispered and he just stared at her.

A few minutes of uncomfortable silence and Hermione was getting nervous.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked quietly.

His eyes shot up to her. “No.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“You’re not?”

“No, it appears you are my daughter, the only living family I have left, my heir as it would seem.”

“The Heir of Slytherin?” she asked with a small smirk.

He matched her smirk with a bigger one. “It would appear so.”

“I did say the locket belonged to me.”

“It would appear so,” he replied.

“Is that going to be your answer from now on?”

“It would appear so.”

Hermione gave a small laugh.

“I have to get back, they’ll be wondering where I am.”

He frowned. “You did not say where you found the locket.”

“That’s because I can’t. The residence that I’m staying in is under the Fidelius, I’m not the Secret Keeper, and therefore I cannot reveal the location.”

“Who is the Secret Keeper?”

“I’m not sure, but an educated guess would be Dumbledore.”

“We need to talk about your involvement in this war.”

“We will, I promise, but I have to get back as soon as I can.” He frowned again. “I forgive you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I forgive you for the last six years, for all the death attempts on my life. I forgive you for everything you have done, well except for all the murder, but still,” she said softly. “May I have my locket back?” she asked him.

He looked down at the locket held in his hand and then back up to her hopeful expression. It was a part of his soul, but she had said that it had spoken to her. It seemed it would be safer with her than it would be locked away in a cave surrounded by Inferi and all the other protective wards he enclosed it with. Someone had obviously found it and luckily she had come across it before it was destroyed.

He stepped forward, placing the locket over her head and she tucked it back into her jumper.

“What am I? Half-blood or Pureblood?”

“Pureblood,” he answered, his red eyes daring her to argue, she merely nodded. “You were limping.” He said, changing the subject completely.

“Sorry?”

“When you were escorted into the room, you were limping.”

“I still haven’t fully healed from the attack,” she shrugged.

“Attack? What attack?” he asked quickly.

She frowned in confusion. “A couple of weeks ago I was attacked in Diagon Alley. Apparently it was by multiple attackers and they decided they would use beater’s bats instead of magic. I can’t remember what happened, just that I had bought a book and was heading to The Leaky Cauldron, then everything went black. I haven’t remembered anything yet.”

“Injuries?” he ground out.

She found it odd he was asking these questions; she had been tortured in front of him, under his orders, not even thirty minutes prior. And he was the one that ordered the attack, right?

“Mr. Weasley said that I had a broken right leg, a broken left arm and a broken collar bone. I had several cracked ribs and a punctured lung, with internal bleeding and a ruptured spleen. I also had many deep tissue bruises covering my face, arms, stomach and legs. When Fred and George Weasley found me I was in Knockturn Alley and barely breathing, they saved my life.”

He looked furious, more so than when he discovered she had the locket.

“Who did it?”

“We don’t know, we just know that my injuries were caused by multiple attackers. The Order were working on leads, but they dropped the case after a week, claiming they had more important things to deal with. They are certain of one thing though, it was Death Eaters.”

“I did not give orders for your attack.”

“They’re adamant it was Death Eaters, who else would hate me so much that they would attack me in such a violent manner? Besides, I’m sure your followers do things all the time without your orders or backing,” she shrugged.

He turned around and moved to sit in his throne. He motioned for her to stand next to him and she did so, nervously.

“We are not informing anyone of our newfound relationship as of yet, soon enough, but not yet,” he informed her and she nodded slowly.

He flicked his wand and within moments the large ballroom began to fill with figures, some wearing dark robes and masks, others not. The members of the inner circle were at the front of the crowd, along with The Lestranges and Malfoys. The Lestranges were sneering at her and Draco Malfoy was watching her with tired eyes. She avoided eye contact with anyone.

“It has come to my attention that Miss. Granger has recently been assaulted by multiple attackers. Her _friends_ seem to believe that some of you are involved.” Murmurs broke out. “I wish to know if it is true,” he looked around the room to see people shuffling their feet nervously or refusing eye contact. “I assure you, if any of you are involved and you do not come forward, the punishment will be far greater.” No one moved. “Hmm,” he hummed.

“Miss. Granger is under my protection.” Every single pair of eyes shot up to her in shock and disbelief. “She is not to be harmed, if she as so much as gets a scratch, the punishment will be severe.” He turned his head towards Hermione. “Go, My Child, for we will speak soon.” She nodded and gave a little curtsey and his mouth twitched.

She walked down the steps that lead to the throne and made her way to the door. The crowd of Death Eaters parted for her and she walked down the middle, keeping her head down.

“Mudblood whore,” she heard a whispered sneer.

Suddenly there was a “Crucio” and a blood-curdling scream. She whipped around to see a robed figure thrashing around on the floor before it stopped. She looked up to see Voldemort standing and his wand held tightly in his hand.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to mention that also includes hurtful language,” he said lightly.

He looked up at Hermione who had gone pale. He was her father, the Dark Lord! He had Crucioed someone for two hurtful words sent her way.

“Hurry along, My Child, we wouldn’t want anyone getting suspicious.” She nodded and barely restrained herself from running out of the room.

~000~000~000~

**12 Grimmauld Place**

“Hermione, where in the name of Circe have you been? You’ve been gone hours,” Ginny asked as she entered the house.

Hermione shrugged. “I wanted some fresh air and went for a walk.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the house, or have you forgotten what happened?”

“How could I forget when The Order gave up after only a week? I needed some fresh air.”

“You are forbidden from leaving the house.”

“You’re not my mother, I can do as I please,” she snapped, before walking up the stairs, leaving behind a shocked Ginny. Maybe her father was wearing off on her already.

Her father.

The Dark Lord.

Shit!

What had she gotten herself into?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 9

**12 Grimmauld Place**

Hermione was sat in her room, she had previously been sharing with Ginny but after she snapped at her, things between them had been tense. So as a result, Hermione packed up her things and moved into another room. She preferred it anyway, being an only child, she didn’t particularly like having her belongings out for others to look through.

Everyone was downstairs eating breakfast, but Hermione wasn’t hungry and she had been excluded anyway. It had been nearly two weeks since she had visited Malfoy Manor and she had tried to sneak out of the house, but Ginny wouldn’t give her any time alone.

So, it was to her surprise when a large eagle flew into her room through the open window, dropped a letter in her lap and then flew out without so much as a second look.

She sat up and opened the letter cautiously.

A single earring fell out and she held it in her palm confused. She looked to her bedroom door and then the letter in her hand and she made her decision.

_Miss. Granger,_

_I believe it is time we had that discussion._

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. She knew exactly who the sender was.

Before she could blink, she felt the familiar tug in her stomach and her world was spinning before it came crashing down and she landed with an ungraceful ‘oomph’ sprawled on the floor.

~000~000~000~

**Malfoy Manor**

“Very graceful,” she heard someone drawl. She sat up and scowled at The Dark Lord and he smirked at her, it was terrifying on his inhuman face.

“A little warning would’ve been nice, I hadn’t even put the letter down,” she grumbled as she stood up and brushed herself down, wincing.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, not really, I just knocked my leg, the bone was actually shattered and not broken, even with magic it’s still painful and will be for a little while,” she sighed and then stuffed the letter in her jean pocket. “So, you wanted to talk?”

He turned around and swept down a long corridor, she almost rolled her eyes at him but followed. The portraits on the walls whispered as she walked past and they watched her curiously.

He led her into a study, with large ostentatious couches, a solid oak dark red desk and a dark wing back chair, with a smaller one in front of the desk. There was a large chandelier above and a huge fireplace against a wall. When her father walked past it, it lit with dancing flames.

He took the seat behind the desk and motioned for her to sit in the smaller chair opposite him. She did and she looked down and shifted nervously in her seat, knowing he was giving her the once over.

“It’s time to discuss your involvement, I’ve waited long enough.”

“I did try to get here sooner, but everyone’s been watching me, particularly Ginny Weasley. I didn’t take kindly to her ordering me about and I fought back and now she follows me everywhere I go. Dumbledore must’ve said something to the others, Mrs. Weasley makes sure I’m never alone and she seems colder towards me. I don’t think he told them my identity, just that I couldn’t be trusted. You know the irony in this is if he had told me, I might not have come to you, he pushed me into choosing you,” she whispered.

“You would’ve turned your back on your heritage?” she looked up and she couldn’t read his expression.

“I can’t answer that for certain. Your cause goes against everything I was raised to believe, and you have tried to kill me for the last five years, can you blame me?”

He smirked at her. “I suppose not, but just so we are clear, you have chosen my cause?”

“No.”

“No,” he said coldly.

“I haven’t chosen your cause, but I have chosen you. I don’t necessarily agree with what you are doing, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t be the dutiful daughter and support you,” she answered. He seemed to be mulling her answer over. “Don’t get me wrong, I will try and change your mind.”

“I will never abandon my mission, not for anyone.”

“I’m known for being quite bossy and stubborn.”

“And violent, too, from what I have heard.”

“If you’re referring to my third year when I broke Peroxide Junior’s nose, then all I have to say is he deserved it. Three years of built-up anger finally snapped, I wanted to hex the prat but I was convinced otherwise.”

He watched her amused. “Quite temperamental, aren’t you?” he mused.

Her expression darkened, she hated when people called her that. The air around them became charged and sparks started flying off her hair.

He looked at her surprised before a smug smile crossed his face.

“You’re powerful,” he said pleased. “The old fool will be kicking himself when he realises that he’s lost a great asset in you.”

At the mention of his name, Hermione calmed herself down, pulling her magic back into herself.

“And you have some control over your emotions, that’s good, you’ll need that.”

“So, the war and my involvement?” Hermione said, changing the subject.

“What is it you wish?” he asked her, watching her carefully.

“I cannot kill for you, I don’t have it in me to take a life, I’ve seen firsthand what dark magic is capable of and I know I will never be able to cause someone the pain I’ve suffered.”

“I can see that you do not have it in, your aura is _good,_ ” he commented.

“I know you must be disappointed, but I prefer to use kindness as a way of getting what I want. Your followers respect you because you’re powerful and they fear you. But if I want your followers to respect me, I can’t be you. Maybe if I was raised in your ways, but I wasn’t, instead I was raised by muggle dentists. If I can show your followers that I am, too, powerful, and I treat them with kindness and fairness, maybe they will respect me in their own way.”

He didn’t respond to her.

“How will you be of use to me?”

“Surely you’ve heard of how studious I am?”

“I have,” was the only reply she got.

“My forte is in research and knowledge, you give me a topic and a few hours and I will be able to list off any information I’ve found as well as referencing the book, author and page number.”

“They don’t call you ‘the Brightest Witch of your Age’ for nothing.”

Something inside of her hoped he was pleased with her.

“I received twelve OWLs, eleven at O level and one at an E, but I would like to point out that Umbridge hated me.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’re not as innocent as you appear to be,” he smirked.

“I’m not a killer, but I have been known to have a vindictive streak in me, not to mention a certain talent for revenge.”

“Giants and centaurs?” he sounded amused.

“She was going to Crucio me.” He stiffened at the news. “Didn’t you know that?”

“No,” he said coldly and she knew he wasn’t happy; she may have just killed Umbridge.

“Oh,” she cleared her throat.

“So, is that all you will aid me in, research?”

“Well, I’m a fairly decent dueller.”

“You survived Antonin’s curse, I’ve known him for decades, no one’s ever survived being in a duel with him, I’d say you’re more than a decent dueller.”

“Thanks,” she muttered and looked down in embarrassment. “My point is I’ve had more experience in battles in the last five years, than half of your followers. I have faced three-headed dogs, basilisks, werewolves, dementors, giants and centaurs, whilst I was doing that, your follows were likely getting their shoes shined whilst sat at a desk eating truffles and reading the newspaper. I can help to train them, improve their skill level so they will have a greater chance of winning in battle, particularly your younger recruits that may be closer in age to me.”

“Will you be attending battles?”

“I don’t know, I’ve said before that I’m not a killer, I don’t think I can cast any dark magic spells, possible grey at a push.”

“Grey it is,” he nodded in compromise.

“You’re not disappointed?”

“A little, but I knew before you arrived that you would refuse dark magic, I can compromise with grey magic. I will accept your assistance in research and I will allow you to aid in duelling lessons for the less experienced. You will have responsibilities and you will be expected to act in a certain manner, and you are to never wear muggle clothing.”

She frowned. “They’re easier to duel in, your robes don’t get in the way and they allow for easy movement and flexibility,” she said. He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, if you wish to keep me a secret, for now, it will be suspicious if I suddenly stop wearing my muggle clothing, replacing it with Pureblood witch fashion.”

“I see your point, you are to not wear muggle clothing when in my presence, I will have all items purchased for you and they will be kept here, whenever you visit, you will change before visiting with me.”

“I can agree to those terms.”

“You will need a mentor to aid you in learning the customs of this world.”

“Actually I don’t, I’m aware of all Pureblood customs and I understand that I am expected to act accordingly, at least in public.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“You’re full of surprises.”

“A lot of Pureblood customs are actually identical to those that high society families use in the Muggle World”

“And you know this how?”

“My adoptive parents are successful dentists. They reside in a community that is somewhat between middle and upper class; they are fairly wealthy and were before I was adopted, both my parents have aristocracy in their ancestry. I was brought up on their values and beliefs.”

“You’ll fit in well,” he commented, sounding pleased. “At least when you start dressing better.”

“Thanks, I think,” she muttered.

“You will return here in one week’s time, we have much more to discuss. I’ll send a port key.”

“I should be alone on Thursday as it’s the school supply run, I already have everything I need.”

“Very well, that will be the day for our next meeting.”

“Question, how exactly am I getting back?”

“That’s for you to figure out.”

“How generous,” she mumbled. “Can I use the floo; I’m going to have to make a few trips?”

~000~000~000~

**12 Grimmauld Place**

“And just where have you been, young lady?” Mrs. Weasley’s glare met her as she stepped out of the floo. Once upon a time, her glare would’ve terrified her, but times have changed and she was the daughter of The Dark Lord.

“What?” she asked confused.

“You are forbidden from leaving the house.”

“I’m sorry, but the last time I checked you weren’t my legal guardian,” Hermione replied. “And, I was visiting my parents. It’s not often they have time off work and so when they do, we spend the day together. You had excluded me from breakfast and I thought I may as well visit them before I return to school. You can’t keep me from my parents.”

It was true, she had only visited with her father for an hour at most and then she visited her adoptive parents afterwards, so she wasn’t technically lying.

Hermione walked past a shocked Mrs. Weasley, went up to her room and she slammed her bedroom door shut and she smiled when Mrs Black’s portrait woke up.

“And so the deception begins,” she murmured as she flopped onto her bed.

~000~000~000~

Later that night when everyone was in bed, Hermione snuck down the stairs and to Mrs. Black’s portrait. Hermione cleared her throat and Mrs. Black opened her eyes and glared at her.

“What do you want, Mudblood?” she sneered.

Hermione sighed. “I need your help.”

“And why would I help a Mudblood like you?”

“I’m not a Mudblood, it turns out I was adopted by muggles when I was born. I’ve recently discovered that my biological father is alive and a wizard, a very powerful wizard.”

“That makes you a Half-blood at best,” she sneered.

“My mother was a witch, she died in child labour. My father is a highly wanted man, soon my connection to him will be revealed and it will not be safe for me here, if it is required, I will need Kreacher to help me escape safely, he won’t do it unless you order him.”

“I won’t help the likes of you.”

“What if I told you my father’s name?”

“Nothing will change my mind, Filth.”

“Have you heard the name, Tom Riddle, before?”

Mrs Black frowned. “Yes, what has he got to do with anything?”

“He’s my father, Tom Riddle is directly related to the Gaunts, making him a descendent of Slytherin.”

Her eyes widened. “The Dark Lord,” she whispered and Hermione nodded. “The Dark Lord is your father?”

“He is, I took this news to him. He has placed me under his protection and acknowledged me as his daughter, but he wishes to keep it a secret for now.”

“The Dark Lord’s daughter is in my house,” she whispered in awe.

“You must keep this a secret. Dumbledore already suspects and he has told the others to be wary around me, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but certain people are now treating me differently, it won’t be long before my secret is revealed and I won’t be safe.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Black nodded uncontrollably, reminding Hermione of a bobblehead and she had to stifle her laughter. “Kreacher,” Mrs. Black called, Kreacher appeared.

“Mistress,” he bowed.

“This young lady here, is the daughter of the Dark Lord,” Kreacher turned to Hermione and immediately started bowing and gushing, she shifted, uncomfortable with the attention.

“You are to cater to her every need and if the time for it calls, you will get her to safety.”

“It would be Kreacher’s honour, Mistress.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said to both of them. “You shouldn’t treat me any differently, Mrs. Black, the others will be suspicious.”

“Of course, your safety is paramount,” she agreed.

“Well, I better get to bed before someone catches me.”

~000~000~000~

The next morning, once again Hermione wasn’t invited to breakfast, not that it bothered her, it seemed that Kreacher had taken it upon himself to make her breakfast in bed, and he had outdone himself.

She stared in awe at the freshly made orange juice, the steaming cup of tea, the lightly buttered toast and crispy bacon, the fluffy scrambled eggs and the syrup covered pancakes, along with the small vase of daffodils.

“Kreacher, there is no way I could possibly eat all of this,” she spoke with wide eyes.

“The Miss is deserving of the best care Kreacher can give her,” he spoke proudly.

“Thank you, Kreacher, this is wonderful, I don’t know how I can thank you.”

“The Miss is pleased?”

“That and much more, Kreacher.”

“Then Kreacher is happy, Miss,” he popped out of the room leaving her dazed. Well, that certainly was a complete one-eighty turn in his personality.

After eating breakfast, Hermione showered and dressed for the day, but she didn’t leave her room, instead, she busied herself completing her summer homework and reading ahead in her books for sixth year, there was a reason she was top of her class and she wasn’t going to let that slip just because of some changes in her life.

Hermione still full from her large breakfast, did not attend lunch and Kreacher brought her a butterbeer and some crackers and cheese to snack on before dinner.

When dinner time came Hermione had finished the remainder of her work and decided to take a break before reading further into her books. She made sure she wouldn’t lose her place in her books and she left her room, heading down to the kitchen.

When she entered everyone was present and finishing up with dinner.

“Hey, Granger,” George called, “Mum said that you weren’t hungry?” he questioned.

“Did she?” Hermione said with her head tilted to the side. “That’s funny; I didn’t even know dinner was prepared.” She said lightly, causing the twins, Mr. Weasley, Harry and Ron to look at a flushing Mrs. Weasley with surprised looks.

“I’m sorry, Granger, there’s no food left,” Fred said apologetically, giving his mother a strange look.

“That’s quite alright, Fred,” she smiled at him. “I’m sure there’s something I can find to eat,” she made her way to the kitchen counter and the cupboards above.

“Miss,” Kreacher said, popping into the room and bowing lowly, causing several forks to drop from hands and clatter onto plates, as the occupants at the table stared wide-eyed and with mouths hung open. “I have prepared your dinner.”

“Thank you, that was awfully kind of you, I would’ve managed myself.”

“Kreacher will take good care of The Miss,” he said, standing tall and stomping his foot.

Hermione smiled at him amused. Kreacher clicked his fingers and a tray appeared, floating in the air. On it was a plate filled with steaming vegetables and mash potato and a tender looking steak, cooked perfectly. A glass of elf wine complemented the meal.

Kreacher placed the tray on the table in front of the empty seat and Hermione sat down and took a sip from her glass of wine.

“You are not old enough to be drinking, young lady,” Mrs. Weasley said indignantly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, whilst delighting in the taste of the well-aged elf wine, likely to have cost a fortune and from The Black’s wine cellar.

“I am to be of age in a few weeks, not to mention, as long I am in the presence of someone that is of age and under supervision, and an in a controlled environment, I am legally allowed to consume alcohol. And if you want to get technical, I am seventeen, due to my use of a time turner the entirety of my third year. By Ministry standards, I will be seventeen, but technically and physically, I will be eighteen.” She took another sip, forcing down the victory smirk as Mrs. Weasley spluttered.

“Why did Kreacher make you dinner, he refuses to do anything for us?” Ron demanded. “And why didn’t he call you a Mudblood?”

She shrugged, putting down her wine glass and picking up her knife and fork, cutting into the tender steak.

“We’ve recently had a talk and we put our differences behind us.”

“Blimey,” George said awed.

“My thoughts exactly, George,” she smiled.

“I’m Fred,” he replied.

“Nope, you’re George, that’s Fred,” she nodded to his left where Fred sat.

“How do you do that?” Fred asked with a frown.

“Sorry?” she asked, looking confused.

“How do you tell us apart, even mum struggles.”

“It’s easy, you may be twins, but you are two individuals, you both have your own personalities, differences and quirks, only an idiot could get you two mixed up.”

Mrs. Weasley flushed bright red. Salazar, her father was already having a massive effect on her and she had only met with him twice!

“Kreacher, this is truly wonderful, thank you for preparing my dinner,” she smiled at the house-elf.

“Kreacher is pleased the Miss approves,” he bowed before popping away, leaving a speechless table. The only sounds were of Hermione’s knife and fork on the plate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 7

**12 Grimmauld Place**

Before Hermione knew it, Thursday had rolled around and the Weasleys and Harry had left to Diagon Alley to get their supplies for the coming school year. Hermione was left alone at Grimmauld, though Mrs. Weasley had left Hermione with a suspicious look and Hermione had witnessed her casting charms on both the fireplace and the front door, to record if Hermione left the house. Though luckily for Hermione, she was leaving by port-key which Mrs. Weasley hadn’t considered.

Not ten minutes after they had left, an eagle flew through her open window, dropping a letter and leaving without a second glance.

Hermione opened the letter and out fell a simple silver bracelet.

_You will be brought to a suite that has been allocated to you. You will find that it has been stocked with all that you require. After your arrival, dress accordingly and wait until you are collected._

Once again it wasn’t signed, but Hermione knew who it was from, the elegant scrawl on the parchment was beginning to become familiar to her.

She had barely put down the letter when the port key activated and her world was spinning.

~000~000~000~

**Malfoy Manor**

This time Hermione was prepared and she landed on her feet when the port-key deposited her in her room, well, suite. Hermione looked around and she was amazed at the sheer size and beauty of the suite.

It was decorated in ivory and purple with dark wood floors and large windows that showed beautiful views of the grounds. Two large white and comfortable couches were arranged in the centre of the room, with a matching armchair and a glass coffee table in the centre of the arrangement. Photo frames lined the walls with photographs of plants, nature and meadows, the sun shining, the sky bright blue and cloudless and the wind blowing gently. There were several dark wood bookcases bulging with books and large tomes, and upon inspection, most of them were dark, rare, illegal and older than her, centuries older.

She couldn’t wait to discover the knowledge hidden in the dusty tomes, and her eyes lit up when she saw several editions of Hogwarts a History, one of them, at which, was presumed to have been destroyed in a fire at Hogwarts centuries prior. To finish the room there was a large dark wooden desk placed strategically near the bookcases, with a comfortable looking large chair. Hermione went through the drawers and she found the finest quality parchment she had ever felt, and bottles of ink and a quill set that cost more than she could ever spend in a year.

Hermione’s attention was caught by large double doors and she walked over to them and pushed them open. Behind the doors was the bedroom, once more decorated in ivory and purples, and with a soft cream carpet covering the ground.

The queen-sized poster bed against the wall faced the double doors, and when she walked closer, the bedding was made of a pale purple silk and cool against her fingertips. She noticed a vanity against another wall with a long and padded bench in front of it. She left the bed and walked over to it, she sat down and her eyes ran over the expensive beauty products, make-up, potions and creams. Her fingers gently ran over the extensive collection of jewellery, bracelets, earrings, necklaces, rings and anklets, all of different precious stones, rubies, diamonds, sapphires, pearls and especially emeralds, each one costing more than she could ever imagine.

On a wall she noticed another set of double doors and stood from the vanity and walked to them, pushing them open to reveal a vast amount of clothing of different varieties. Walking through the large room, she observed they were parted into different sections. Ball gowns and formal dresses together, formal robes and everyday robes were separate, as were cloaks and nightwear and an entire section was dedicated to shoes – consisting of heels and boots of different colours, styles and heights. The other clothing consisted of different materials of cashmere, silk, satin, lace and wool, not to mention several she didn’t even recognise. Some were a dark rich colour, meant to intimidate and give off dark beauty, others light and playful, meant to show softness and natural beauty. Several chests of drawers contained underwear of different materials and Hermione quickly closed the drawer with a blush covering her cheeks.

But what caught Hermione’s attention was a smaller section right at the back of the large room, she rushed over to it and smiled widely. It seemed her father was willing to compromise and had listened to her. The small section consisted of muggle clothing, though it seemed if she was to be allowed to wear muggle fashion, it would be the most desired and expensive brands, brands she would never dream of purchasing clothing from in fear of getting a smudge of dirt on them or spilling a drop of juice on them. Jeans, jumpers, shirts, dresses – both formal and informal, cardigans and blazers, there was even some boots and flats.

Hermione left the room and headed to the final door in the bedroom, which opened up into the bathroom decorated in violet and white marble. A large glass door shower stood in one corner with several showerheads, a sunken bathtub was in the centre of the room and equivalent to a small swimming pool. A large mirror sat above the marble counter, with the sink in the centre. A cupboard was off in the corner filled with clean bedding and fluffy towels.

Hermione was amazed at the suite she had been given and she decided to dress before she was collected. She headed back to the closet and ran her fingers over the fabric of the informal robes and dresses. They were still beautiful, even if Hermione treasured knowledge more than material possessions, even she could appreciate the beauty of the clothing.

After five minutes she pulled out a dress and looked it over, before shrugging and walking towards one of the many ottomans that littered the room. She placed the dress on the ottoman and proceeded to remove her simple jeans, t-shirt and converse, folding them and placing them down.

She removed the dress from the hanger and stepped into it, pulling it up her body and doing up the zip at her side. She grabbed a simple pair of black four inch heels and slipped them on, she smoothed down the dress and went over to the floor-length mirror on the wall to check herself over.

She stood there in a dark green floor-length dress made of a material she didn’t recognise but it was soft and surprisingly comfortable. The dress had a corset type bust and a cinched waist that showed off her figure without being too revealing, and wrist-length sleeves that sat off the shoulder. The dress flared out the tiniest bit and fell down to the floor, her black heels covered by the soft fabric. Her breasts were pushed up by the dress and the very tops of them were on display, her locket rested in place there and her creamy shoulders and collar bones were shown. Her hair lay in ringlets down her back and had already been pinned back from her face before she arrived. She barely recognised herself.

Her porcelain skin contrasted against the dark green dress, making her skin almost glow and her mahogany curls fell in perfect ringlets that most girls couldn’t even achieve with several charms. Her large chocolate brown eyes were soft and held many emotions. It was her, but it wasn’t.

It was difficult for her to comprehend; she believed that after her fourth year and The Yule Ball that she was fairly pretty, particularly when she put a bit of effort into her appearance, but now she looked beautiful. It amazed her that she could look so different and the only change being a dress.

She felt a small smile tug at her mouth, someone had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to make the suite perfect for her personality, even the purchase of muggle clothing couldn’t have been easy, giving house-elves couldn’t enter the Muggle World for fear of being seen and most Purebloods would never be caught dead crossing into the territory of the other humans they shared the planet with.

With a nod to herself, she picked up her dress in her hands so that she wouldn’t step on it and she left the closet, walking through the bedroom to where the bookcases were located.

Without thought she pulled down the first edition of Hogwarts a History and took it to the desk, she sat down in the comfortable seat and placed the book on the desk. She carefully opened the aged book and gingerly ran her fingers over the parchment, she sneezed as the dust tickled her nose and then giggled afterwards.

She was only ten pages into the book when another set of double doors were opened, a figure stepped in but Hermione didn’t notice, being too engrossed in her book.

“It’s rude not to address those in your presence,” a voice from the doorway made her jump and she looked up to see Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

He had his white-blonde hair slicked back as usual, his pointed and angular features showed his pedigree ancestry and his pale skin contrasted against the black of his expensively tailored suit and black shirt. He didn’t look as exhausted as he had the night she had come to Malfoy Manor, but he still looked like he could do with a good night’s rest. Though, with his father in prison, the Dark Lord operating out of his family home and Death Eaters wandering the halls, she could understand why he was tired. Through her perusal of him she noticed that he was actually quite handsome when he wasn’t sneering or scowling, that thought shocked her.

Hermione shook her head and blinked a few times before she slowly stood up and walked around the desk, her heels clacking against the floor as she walked, she stopped in front of the desk and clasped her hands behind her back nervously, inadvertently standing taller and her breasts pushed out further.

Malfoy’s grey-blue eyes widened and she noticed them trail up and down her figure, it was clear to her that he was surprised by her new appearance.

She knew that she would be expected to behave and socialise with her father’s followers, she would be expected to play nice and she decided that it would be good for her to at least be on civil terms with at least one of the Death Eater’s children. That way she wouldn’t always be alone and when she felt lonely, she could have the company of someone her own age. Malfoy was a tosspot, she knew that, hell, she had not only witnessed it but also been on the receiving end of it more times than the number of house points she had received the previous five years. But she couldn’t exactly blame him for his upbringing, could she? She might have been the same if she wasn’t raised by Jean and Richard Granger.

She decided to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt and she would forgive him for all his transgressions towards her, she would start the slate clean with him.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, nodding her head to him and then she tilted her head to the side slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, I kind of got distracted by Hogwarts a History,” she said with a sheepish smile.

To her surprise, he rolled his eyes at her.

“Wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” he drawled. “I’ve been sent to collect you; the Dark Lord wishes to see you.”

“Of course, lead the way,” she walked towards him and he turned and left through the doors and into a hallway, she quickened her steps and she found a new appreciation for her mother’s lessons on how to walk in heels before her fourth year.

They were silent as he led her down hallways and around corners, up and downstairs and past several rooms, with him walking in front of her and her slightly behind him.

“What are you playing at Mudblood?” he finally asked, spinning on his heel to face her and she almost crashed into him before she caught herself.

She frowned. “Sorry?” she asked confused.

“What the hell are you doing aligning yourself with the Dark Lord, what can a Mudblood like you possibly offer him?”

She schooled her features and clasped her hands in front of her. “I don’t see how that is any of your business, we’re all entitled to our secrets and I sincerely hope you’re not questioning the Dark Lord’s choices, he has eyes and ears everywhere,” she warned him. “He obviously sees something in me that he finds useful and he and I have come to an arrangement that works for the both of us. I know what is required of me and he knows what I will and will not do for him, I have boundaries and he respects that.”

“You’re still a Mudblood, the best friend of Scar-head and once he’s lost his use for you, he’ll kill you.”

“No, he won’t,” she said shaking her head. “He would never harm me, nor would he allow any harm to come to me. You witnessed the same as I that night in the ballroom.”

“What I witnessed was him allowing you to be _Crucio_ ’d and him setting his pet on you.”

“But he called her off and afterwards he sent you all away, we had a discussion in that time. If you remember he asked me to stand by his side, how many others can you say have been given the same privilege? When he heard about my attack he questioned his followers and threatened pain, a fate worse than death if they lied to him about knowing anything, not to mention he Crucioed a follower without thought when he heard them insult me, he is protective of me.”

“Just what do you have on him?”

“I don’t have anything on him,” she said softly. “Neither do I want anything from him, our relationship is of no one’s concern, not until he deems it time to reveal my role in all of this.”

“You’re his whore,” he sneered.

She paled. “That’s disgusting,” she blurted out. “When truths are shared you’ll understand just how wrong you are and just how twisted that statement is. So no, Malfoy, I am not his whore. Thank you for escorting me to The Dark Lord, but I’m sure I can find the rest of the way myself.” She walked around him and continued down a hallway.

She stopped and turned to see Malfoy just staring after her in surprise.

“I was hoping that we could put our past behind us and be civil, it would be nice for me to have someone to talk to since I’m going to be around quite a lot. So Malfoy, I forgive you for every hex and every insult, I’m giving you a clean slate.” She turned and continued walking and then she stopped again and looked behind her.

“By the way, Malfoy, I’ve recently discovered that I was adopted, I’m _not_ a Muggleborn, both of my biological parents were Purebloods.” His eyes bugged out of his head. “Yes, I’m a Pureblood, so no more of this Mudblood nonsense if you please. Oh, and please don’t mention this conversation to anyone else, the Dark Lord would like to keep my blood status a secret for now.” She turned and rounded the corner leaving a gaping Draco Malfoy behind.

~000~000~000~

Hermione had managed to find her way to the office her father had led her to the last time she had visited without any help. She knocked on the door and when his voice told her to enter she opened the door and shut it behind her and she walked towards his desk.

He looked up from a document that had previously held his attention, he sat back in his chair and looked her over appraisingly.

“Much better,” he commented.

“Thank you,” she spoke, he tilted his head to the side. “For the books and clothing, particularly the muggle fashion, and the room is beautiful.”

“Well, you are a Slytherin. Royalty. We deserve only the best.”

“Still, thank you, and if you want to get technical I was sorted into Gryffindor.”

“Don’t remind me,” he drawled. “I am curious, what did the sorting hat say to you, did it give you the option of Slytherin?”

She shifted on her feet nervously and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Yes, it did, the hat had barely been on my head and the first thought that came from it was that I belonged in Slytherin.”

“Why were you sorted into Gryffindor?” he spoke, sounding disgusted at the thought.

“I had read all about Slytherin in Hogwarts a History, at the time I believed I was a Muggleborn, I would have never been safe in Slytherin, not only because of my believed blood status, but also due to the fact I am the top of my class, beating every Pureblood in my year.” He nodded conceding her point. “Ravenclaw was also considered, but most Ravenclaws are focused on nothing but studying, at least being in Gryffindor allowed me to live a little and it gave me a break from studying. As much as I love learning, books and knowledge, even I can’t study twenty-four-seven. As much as I’d like to be able to, my body and brain don’t agree.”

“How did you find Draco?” he asked her, changing the subject.

“Would you like me to lie or would you like an honest answer?”

He chuckled, a deep rich sound.

“Whichever you think I would prefer to hear.”

She sighed. “He was kinder to me than he’s ever been, even if he did ask me if I was your whore,” she noticed his eyes darken. “You can’t blame him for voicing it, everyone else is only thinking the same, he was just brave enough to say it out loud. We gave them some very confusing news that night, they’re all wondering why you would protect me, they’re wondering what possible use I could be to you, especially since they believe I’m a Muggleborn. I guess we’ll have to wait and see how things turn out.”

“Take a seat, we have much to discuss.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 5

**Hogwarts Express**

The time had come for Hermione to return to Hogwarts, her remainder of her stay at 12 Grimmauld Place had been the same as it had since meeting her father. Mrs. Weasley treated her coldly, Ginny would often give her suspicious looks and follow her around, Harry and Ron had somewhat distanced themselves from her and Mr. Weasley wasn’t around much due to work requirements. The only people that hadn’t changed the way they treated Hermione was the twins and they weren’t at Grimmauld all that much, since they had their shop to run and they lived in the flat above.

Hermione had spent most of her time in her room and with Kreacher making her meals for her since Mrs. Weasley had stopped inviting her to meals altogether, not that it bothered her. When Hermione wasn’t in her room, she had been smuggled out to meet with her father three times a week.

During her visitations with her father they spent time talking about the coming war and much to her surprise, he seemed interested in getting to know her, so they usually talked about her childhood, her father wanting to know if she had been treated well by her adoptive parents, it was strange but she hadn’t hesitated to tell him about her life.

She had run into Draco Malfoy a couple of times and she noticed immediately that he seemed to have warmed to her since discovering she wasn’t a Muggleborn, she even discovered that he was quite intelligent, he was behind her in classes by only a couple of points and they had had some very entertaining conversations. She wouldn’t say they were friends exactly, more like civil acquaintances. She hadn’t yet met any other Death Eaters or their children, but she was perfectly happy with the company of her father and Malfoy.

She sighed and her attention went back to Harry and Ron, both of who were currently discussing what they had witnessed at Diagon Alley with Malfoy in Borgin and Burkes, they had been speaking of nothing but that for the last two hours and she was getting a headache.

With a frustrated noise Hermione shut her book with a loud snap and stood up, gaining the attention of Harry and Ron, they hadn’t spoken to her since they stepped foot on the train and now she needed to get away from them.

“Where are you off to?” Ron asked gruffly.

“Away from you two idiots, I’ve had enough of your ridiculous accusations of Malfoy being a Death Eater,” she said simply and they stared at her in surprise, before their expressions turned to disgust.

“Since when do you defend Malfoy, he’s the first person to call you a Mudblood? He insults you and tries to hex you every time he sees you.” Ron spat.

“Woopdido,” she replied. “I broke his nose, I deflect his hexes and insult him in return. Not only is Malfoy underage, but his father also failed You-Know-Who, He would never bestow that _honour_ on Malfoy. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to change into my robes.” She left the compartment without a second glance, instead of doing what she said she was going to do, she walked down the aisles looking for another compartment to sit in.

She was searching for five minutes when she finally came to a compartment, though it wasn’t empty, Draco Malfoy occupied it, wearing a black tailored suit and sat staring out of the window.

Hermione looked both ways before stepping into the compartment and closing the door behind her, shutting the blinds and muttering a Silencing Charm under her breath.

He looked up when she sat down opposite him.

“What’s got your mane frazzled?” he smirked at her.

She scowled at him. “You need to be careful this year.”

“And why is that?”

“Harry is adamant that you’re a Death Eater, I’m doing my best to dissuade him but he’s as stubborn as a bloody mule and he doesn’t even appear to be listening to my logic. I know you’ve been given a task and...”

“How do you know that?” he asked her quickly, looking angry.

“He told me,” she said softly. “I told you, I’m important to him, he trusts me more than he does even his most loyal followers, he knows that I would never betray him and he trusts my opinion.”

“Why?”

“Nice try, I’m not going to reveal the nature of my relationship with Him until he wishes to, it’s to keep me safe for as long as possible,” she shrugged. “As I was saying, I know you have a task but I don’t know what the task is, and honestly, I didn’t ask because that’s none of my business. If you wish to tell me then I will listen and help you in any way that I can, otherwise, I will help you by keeping Harry and Ron off your trail as much as possible.”

He looked away from her and out of the window.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“They were grating on my nerves, they haven’t stopped talking about you for the last two hours, if I didn’t know they hated you I would’ve thought they fancied you.” He snorted at her. “I couldn’t take it anymore and I had to get away from Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb. I was wandering the aisles when I stumbled upon you, thought I’d keep you company, or at the very least I knew you would let me read in peace and quiet,” she gave him a small smile before opening up her book, settling back against the backrest and picking up from where she left off.

“What are you reading?” he asked her curiously, she didn’t answer but showed him the cover, not taking her eyes off the book. He snorted when he saw the title. _“Hogwarts, a History_ , seriously? Do you ever put that book down?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see what’s so great about it.”

“I love it, it calms me because it’s familiar, it’s the first magical textbook that I read, this helped me to transition from Muggle World to Wizarding World, without this book I would’ve been lost, I would’ve struggled and it would’ve taken me a while to find my feet in a world I didn’t know existed until I received my Hogwarts’ letter. You should’ve been there the day McGonagall showed up and turned into her Animagus form in front of my parents, they fainted,” she laughed fondly.

A frown crossed his face.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

“Very clever,” he snarked. “Fine, can I ask you about something that’s been bothering me.”

“You’re going to anyway, no matter my answer.”

“Damn it, Granger!” he glared.

She raised an eyebrow at his annoyed expression, doing her best to fight off the laugh as his pale skin began to lightly flush pink in his annoyance. She put her book down beside her and gave her his full attention.

“Out with it, before you explode, you’re already turning red.”

He scowled, before taking a breath. “Why were you adopted?”

“My biological father and mother weren’t in love, they barely knew each other, they were just bed warmers for a short time. My father was visiting Albania when he met my mother, after he left and returned to Britain, my mother discovered that she was pregnant. She tried her best to contact my father but her owls always returned without being opened. At seven months pregnant she travelled to Britain and searched for my father for a month, a month later she went into labour and she died. I was born in the Wizarding World but put up for adoption in the Muggle World due to The Wizarding War. I was adopted by a muggle couple who couldn’t have children. They never told me I was adopted.”

“How did you find out that you were adopted?”

“It was strange; a woman who I later discovered was my mother visited my dreams, when I next visited my parents I confronted them and they told me the truth, they brought a box down from the attic and showed me its contents. Inside were the clothes I was adopted in, the adoption papers and a silk green blanket with my initials on, H.A.R.”

“H.A.R? Is your father still alive, do you know his identity?”

“Yes, I contacted him and we’ve met, he has accepted me as his daughter and our relationship seems to be developing well so far. Just because I was adopted doesn’t mean that I love my muggle parents any less, they raised me. There were there when I had nightmares, when I fell off my bike and scraped my knee, they read to me every night, my mother taught me how to bake a cake, my father taught me about the muggle sport, Football, and when he got time off from work, we would travel to away games together and sit in the stands cheering for our team and booing the other,” she smiled fondly.

“They taught me how to read and write, they were there when I took my first steps or when my first tooth had fallen out, they have photo albums filled to the brim of me growing up. I love them because they protected me, I am the person I am today because of their influence, they may have worked far more than most parents in my neighbourhood, but when they did get time off from work they made it count. Picnics, trips to the beach, going to the fairground, travelling Europe to go to conventions and then spending their free time with me, simple things, but it was the simple things that I loved.”

“How did you not know you were adopted?”

“I would have never suspected, my parents are both brunettes, with brown eyes and pale skin, I never noticed a difference in us, I may not have my mother’s ears or my father’s nose, but we were similar in hair and eye colour and complexion,” she shrugged and then she picked up her book and went back to reading, Malfoy stared at her with a tilted head and contemplative eyes.

“Is your biological father a Death Eater?” he asked her with a crease in his forehead.

“You could say that.”

“He knows the Dark Lord? That’s why you’re being protected?” she didn’t speak, but hummed in response, leaving him confused and trying to figure out who her biological father could be.

It was two hours later when Hermione looked at her watch, she sighed and then stood up. “I better go, Slughorn’s asked me to attend some special dinner,” she rolled her eyes.

“Zabini’s going too,” he informed her.

“And Harry,” she sighed again, “I better go, I likely won’t see you much around school, so remember to watch your back and to be careful. And for the love of magic, stay out of trouble.”

~000~000~000~

**Hogwarts**

Hermione stepped through the entrance hall doors and looked around at the familiarity of the school that had been home to her for the last five years. Harry –and his recently healed broken nose, courtesy of her- and Ron were to her left, whispering to each other, she didn’t take notice.

Instead, she walked towards the great hall for the sorting feast, Harry and Ron following blindingly. She was dressed in her uniform, though it was a better quality than she was used to. Upon her last visit with her father he presented her with a new school trunk, filled to the brim with upgraded school supplies and clothing of the same quality in her closet at Malfoy Manor, the fabric was soft and light against her skin but still offered her warmth in the cold temperature of the castle.

When she first dressed in the pricey black flats, knee-high socks, grey pleated skirt, brilliant white shirt, cashmere grey v-neck and soft robes lined in Gryffindor colours and the Gryffindor crest, she noticed that the inside of her clothing had been monogrammed with H.A.R. Hermione had almost cried in the Hogwarts Express’ bathroom.

If anyone noticed the finer quality clothing that even some of the wealthy Purebloods didn’t sport, they didn’t comment, though she had noticed that Ginny hadn’t taken her eyes off her when they got onto the train since she had been wearing some of the designer muggle clothing that her father had purchased for her.

Hermione entered the great hall and looked up at the enchanted ceiling, a small smile lit her face when she saw the clear starry night sky.

“What the hell?” Ron and Harry exclaimed, bringing her out of her daze.

She turned to look at them and they were staring at her in horror. No, not her, but her robes. She frowned and looked down at herself. Her eyes widened and she gasped in shock.

Her maroon and gold tie was slowly changing to green and silver, the outline of her robes changed from red to green and the Gryffindor crest changed to the Slytherin crest.

She was dressed as a Slytherin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 7

**Hogwarts**

She looked up at Harry and Ron.

“What’s happening? What just happened?” she asked them, equally as shocked as they were. “I don’t understand,” she shook her head.

“You’re a Slytherin,” Harry whispered in shock.

“No, I’m not, I was sorted into Gryffindor, this is impossible, never has a student changed houses before, especially since I haven’t been resorted, I only walked through the doors,” she spoke panicked.

“You’re a Slytherin,” Ron spat disgusted.

“Don’t be a prat, Ronald,” Hermione hissed, “you know as well as I do that I’m a Gryffindor, this must be someone’s sick idea of a joke,” she spat, they gave her a look and slowly nodded.

She sighed and turned to the Gryffindor table but before she could sit down Dumbledore appeared in front of her.

“Miss. Granger, might I have a moment of your time,” his eyes were cold and hidden behind his half-moon glasses; she knew it wasn’t a request.

“Of course, Professor,” she said politely with a smile, though inside she was furious, he had something to do with her new wardrobe, she was sure of it.

Together they walked to the head’s table and through to the back room the champions had convened in two years prior. The door closed behind them and he turned to look at her, there was no smile on his face or twinkle in his eyes, just coldness, she could feel the hatred for her rolling off him in waves. It settled around her, seeped into her very bones making her feel cold, hated, lonely. 

“Professor, if this is concerning my robes, I’m not sure why this happened, I believe it’s just a practical joke and it will hopefully wear off soon.”

“It is not a practical joke, Miss. Granger; you have been resorted into Slytherin house.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

“But I’m a Gryffindor and have been for the last five years. Gryffindor is my home, my family, I don’t understand,” she frowned as confusion and anger began to set in.

“It has been decided that you are better suited to being in Slytherin house rather than Gryffindor, I believe it is where you will be most at home.”

“But I’m a Muggleborn, they’ll never accept me into their house, they’ll likely hex me just for wearing their colours.”

“I’m sure someone of your intelligence will be able to handle the situation.”

“I don’t understand, Professor, why are you doing this?” she asked him. “I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong, why are you punishing me and throwing me out of Gryffindor? What did you say to Mrs. Weasley, she’s been acting strangely? If it wasn’t for Kreacher I likely wouldn’t have eaten at all. Ever since I asked you if you knew the name Tom Riddle, you’ve been different. Who is he, that’s all I want to know?”

“I do not know the name Tom Riddle,” his eyes were cold and his face set hard, she couldn’t help be intimidated by him, by his height and his power. “I am not punishing you, nor have I spoken to Molly Weasley, you are being transferred to Slytherin as the sorting hat believes that you are better suited there, end of discussion.”

Hermione’s spine stiffened.

“Fine, but you’ll regret it,” she whispered.

“Was that a threat?” she looked up at him.

“No, it was a promise, after all, Gryffindor won’t stand a chance of winning the house cup now, I alone collect over half of the total points for the year, I average twenty points a day. With me now being in Slytherin, they’ll get my house points. And, should anything happen to me or my health and well-being is threatened due to your actions, I can’t imagine the board of governors, nor the parents being happy that a student under your care was harmed, and you did nothing to prevent it, Muggleborn or not.”

She walked past him without a second glance, when she left the room Hermione noticed that the first years had been brought in and were gathered in the aisle, awaiting the sorting to begin.

Harry and Ron were sat at the Gryffindor table will Neville, Seamus and Dean, they were all looking at her, waiting for her to sit down with them and explain what Dumbledore wished to speak to her about.

She gave them a grimace, before taking a deep breath and turning towards the Slytherin table. She could do this. She was of Slytherin blood, this was her rightful house; she belonged to it more than anyone. If anyone treated her badly, she knew her father would find out and he would be far from pleased. She knew that her father had already warned his Death Eaters against harming her, and he’d ensured that the same warning was passed along to their children. They knew that she was not to be harmed, they didn’t know why, just that no harm should come to her under The Dark Lord’s orders. 

She closed her eyes and took another deep breath before straightening her spine and slowly walking towards the Slytherin table. She noticed that the entire hall had gone quiet, with the exception of the new first years who were whispering excitedly, having to idea that the dynamics of the school would never be the same since her move to Slytherin.

Hermione sat down at the end of the table by herself, empty seats for the new first year Slytherins would separate her from the rest of her new housemates.

Her eyes caught Malfoy’s and he was looking at her surprised, but he cocked his eyebrow at her. She subtly shook her head and he looked away from her, to Pansy who was clinging to him and glaring at her hatefully. He pulled a face of disgust and Hermione took a sip of water to hide her amusement at his predicament.

She had learned Malfoy’s true opinion on Pansy Parkinson and her grabby hands after teasing him relentlessly after he had received a letter from her during one of their discussions whilst at Malfoy Manor. She found it hilarious that Pansy had somehow gotten it into her head that Malfoy was to marry her and so she continuously stuck her ‘claim’ on him to ward off other Pureblooded girls.

In reality, Malfoy did his best to avoid her and he had no such plans to tie himself to her for the rest of his life, in fact, he had jokingly explained detailed plans on how he wished to dispose of her, and she had to admit, some of them were rather creative.

Her eyes once more caught his and he scowled when he saw her hiding her smile behind her water, causing her to snort into her drink. When McGonagall entered the hall with the parchment in her hand, her eyes widened at seeing Hermione sat at the Slytherin table and with her new uniform colours. She looked at Dumbledore and back to Hermione, worry crossing her aged features before she composed herself and turned her attention to the first years.

After the sorting had finished, adding eight new Slytherin first years to her new house, Dumbledore gave a speech and the feast appeared. The first years gasped in awe and whispered whilst hurriedly placing food on their plates, Hermione smiled remembering she’d had a similar reaction in her first year, though without stuffing her face like a pig, she grimaced and filled her own plate with the food she desired.

Halfway through the feast a first year boy with golden blonde hair, dark green eyes, a pale complexion and a straight nose looked in her direction.

“Can I help you?” she spoke politely, the young boy blushed at having been caught staring at her.

He shook his head rapidly and looked down.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, he looked up at her nervously and she gave him a soft smile and he seemed to relax a little, though he still looked embarrassed and nervous.

“I was just wondering why you weren’t sitting with the older students,” he spoke quietly.

“Well...” she trailed off, waiting for him to supply his name.

“Burke, Roland Burke,” he replied shyly. She recognised the name, he was the great-grandson of Herbert Burke, the co-owner of Borgin and Burkes.

Upon her time spent with her father, he had taken it upon himself to educate her on the Pureblood lines of Wizarding Britain. As a result, she knew every name, she knew who was related to who through blood, she knew who was related to who through marriage and she knew every Pureblood families assets and why they were useful to _the cause_ or expendable, such as known pro-muggles and blood traitors. In short, she knew more about Pureblood lines and their ancestry than said families knew about themselves. After all, she believed that knowledge was power.

“Well, Roland Burke, they don’t like me.”

“Why don’t they like you?” he asked confused, all of the other first years appeared to be listening too.

“She’s smarter than them.”

Hermione turned to her left and jumped in surprise, dropping her knife and fork onto her plate and bringing her hand up to chest as it beat rapidly.

Sat next to her was a boy with copper coloured shaggy hair, bright blue eyes and lightly tanned skin. He was tall, even sitting down Hermione could see that. She recognised this boy instantly, he was a spitting double of his father, Thoros Nott, a member of her father’s inner circle. He was Theodore Nott.

“Bloody hell, Nott,” she breathed out, getting her breathing back under control. “Don’t do that, I could’ve hexed you, or maybe even stabbed you with my fork.” His eyebrow quirked and his lip twitched in amusement. “How did you even get there? How long have you been there?”

He didn’t answer, he merely smirked, resulting in her annoyance levels once again rising another level for the day.

“You’re smarter than them? All of them?” Burke spoke with a frown, looking unconvinced that one person could be smarter than almost everyone at the table.

“That’s what I said Burke, you need to listen, Snape won’t tolerate ignorance, even when it comes to his own house,” Nott warned. “And, yes, she is smarter than most in this room, don’t you know who you’re conversing with?”

Burke shook his head, as did the other first years. “Well then, Burke and other Firsties, allow me to introduce you to the Brightest Witch of the Age, also known as Hermione Granger.” Eyes widened and several faces paled and fear flickered through their eyes.

Yep, they had definitely been told by their parents, Hermione summarised.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” Hermione shrugged, before picking up her fork and returning to eating her food.

“Now that you know why Granger isn’t liked by those sat at this table, go about your own business, I need to have a word with the Gryffindor Princess.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the title, but the first years didn’t hesitate in their decision to listen to the elder Slytherin.

Hermione flicked her wand under the table and with a muttered spell, she had an impenetrable sound bubble placed around herself and Nott, she had a feeling he wanted to discuss something that wasn’t meant for the public ears.

“So Granger,” Nott said, taking a sip of pumpkin juice and keeping his eyes locked on hers. The silence was getting to her and she snapped.

“Bloody hell, Nott, just spit it out would you? The silence is infuriating.”

He smirked behind his goblet, taking small, continuous sips as her annoyance levels continued to rise.

“If you do not speak within the next five seconds, I will stab you with my knife,” she promised him.

He let out a rick chuckle, she wasn’t sure if it was of genuine amusement or if it was a move he had spent years practising and perfecting.

“I actually believe you,” he spoke, putting down his goblet, “one thing I’ve learned about you is that you’re honest, particularly when it comes to threats which are more like promises in your case, since you actually go through with them. You’re more Slytherin than you appear.”

“You have no idea,” she muttered.

“Which brings me to my question, why are you currently sporting the lovely colours of silver and green, a serpent on your robes, and, why are you sat at a table in which half of the occupants want you dead and the other half are terrified of you?”

“Thought it’d be funny to rock the boat, throw a spanner in the works, you know, the usual.”

“Don’t believe you, you’re a rubbish liar.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Not, Nott!”

“Okay, maybe not completely rubbish; you are lying straight to St. Potter and The Weasel, after all.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, she put down her knife and fork for the second time and turned to give him her full attention.

“What do you know?”

He shrugged. “Not that much actually, just that my father has been ordered to inform me that you are not to be harmed, especially by a member of Slytherin house.”

“And why would he be ordered to do that?”

“You tell me, you’re the one currently sat at the wrong house table and conversing with the wrong first years.”

“What if I was to tell you that I’m not currently sat at the wrong house table and that I’m not currently conversing with the wrong first years?”

His eyebrow quirked. “Well then, I’d ask you how you came to that conclusion.”

Hermione eyed him warily, her father had warned her not to trust a Slytherin, even if she was actually of Slytherin blood. She had not been raised in the house and therefore had not learned how they behaved, why they acted the way they did or why they searched and plotted to discover information which would later be used as leverage against others. She had to be careful with what she divulged, because even if Theodore Nott wasn’t stupid, third in her year behind herself and Draco respectively, and even if he would never harm her, she did not trust him.

“My first year, the welcoming feast, the hat’s first thought was to place me in Slytherin,” she answered. He looked at her impassively but she saw the slightest spark of curiosity and interest in his eyes.

“But you’re a Muggleborn,” he commented, she was surprised that he hadn’t spoken the word with disgust, just confusion.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, neither denying nor admitting it. “And therefore I was placed in Gryffindor, before starting Hogwarts I had read about Slytherin house and for that reason, I knew I wouldn’t be safe as a Muggleborn, even if the hat deemed me a true Slytherin.”

“What do you know, a snake wearing a lion skin,” he smirked. “So, Granger, why are you here now and not in the lion den that you called home for the last five years?”

“Dumbledore discovered my true positioning at this school and obviously disliked me being in his precious house of heroes,” she scowled. “With this move, he’s just cost himself the house cup and a lot more than he will ever realise until it’s too late.”

He titled his head to the side, watching her with interest.

“And just what is that?”

“I thought Slytherins were supposed to be secretive and conniving, revealing my intentions for the future of Dumbledore wouldn’t be wise.”

“Maybe you are a Slytherin after all,” he mused, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“As you said, I’m a snake that’s been wearing a lion’s skin.” She picked up her goblet and took a sip, her eyes locked on Nott’s as they observed each other.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he commented.

To anyone else, the comment could’ve related to anything, but to Hermione, she knew exactly what he meant.

“I do, I am perfectly safe in my position in Slytherin house, as you said yourself, there have been orders given to ensure my safety.”

“Why would He do that? What are you up to?”

“I can’t tell you, our relationship and our plans are to remain private until he deems it necessary and once he is sure that no one will harm me.”

“But why would he protect you, you’re a Muggleborn, the very thing he hates? Malfoy told me what happened in the ballroom; he punished his own follower for insulting you.”

She shrugged. “He’s very protective of me, we have an understanding and he knows that he has my support and help if he so requires it. I have my own tasks and goals of which he agrees with.”

“You’re betraying your friends and house.”

“Am I?” she asked lightly, and he eyed her warily at her tone. “The friends that bullied me through my first few months of school and the house that allowed it to happen? The friends that locked me in a bathroom with a mountain troll and were the reason I was in there in the first place? The friends that only visited me twice when I was in the hospital wing after being petrified? I was there for months! What about the friends that abandoned me because I did my best to protect Harry from a broom that could’ve possibly killed him? Or the time they turned me into a bloody owl when they stopped talking to each other in fourth year? Or the time Ronald all but called me a slut and a traitor for going to The Yule Ball with Viktor? Or the friends that almost got me killed last year?”

“And we can’t forget all the times they took advantage of my kindness to suit them, or when they used me to get their homework done and to pass their classes. How about when they made fun of me for trying to protect the rights of beings, in which I didn’t completely understand? Those friends?” she hissed in a manner that was frighteningly similar to The Dark Lord, which both surprised and horrified him.

“I am not betraying anyone, they were never my friends to begin with. They treat those they hate better than they ever did me. They took advantage of me and because I’m an idiot, I let them do it.” She slammed her goblet on the table and stood up, marching down the aisle and out of the great hall, with most of the occupants’ eyes glued to her as she left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 9

**Hogwarts**

She stormed down the corridors, her curls frizzing as her anger began to build. She walked blindly to the dungeons and by the time she reached her potions classroom, she halted to a stop, realising she didn’t know the way to the Slytherin common room.

She clenched her hands into fists and gritted her teeth in frustration. She’d never felt so angry, she’d never felt her magic so alive, so potent. It seemed she harboured a lot of unfriendly feelings towards her once best friends, feelings that she hadn’t even been aware of having. She kept it bottled up, until it continued to grow and grow and grow, until it just snapped and every negative feeling she had came rushing to the surface and she was forced to contain it lest she did something she’d regret.

A hand touched her shoulder and Hermione jumped in surprise, the magic that she had been trying to reign in was freed and she heard a grunt of pain and a loud ‘thud.’

Hermione turned and gasped as she saw Malfoy sprawled out on the ground.

“Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry,” she rushed over to him and dropped to her knees. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Not your fault, Granger,” he grunted in pain and he pushed himself up so that he leaned up against the wall for support.

“I’m so sorry, Malfoy, I swear I...”

“Granger, calm down, I’m fine,” he sighed as she fussed over him. “Granger!” he barked, she stopped her mumbled apologies and looked up into his grey-blue eyes. “I’m fine, calm the fuck down,” he repeated.

She took a deep breath and then exhaled.

“Right, I’m calm,” she said to herself. “I mean it, Malfoy, I didn’t mean to hurt you; it was an accident.”

“Shut up, it was my fault,” he admitted, surprising her. In all the years she’d been forced to share a school with him, she’d never once heard of him apologising or admitting that he was in the wrong.

“I saw something surrounding you, an almost glow of silver and green and my curiosity got the best of me. I should’ve known not to touch you, I’ve seen something similar before and the consequences were a lot worse than my getting thrown into a wall. ” He ran his hand through his hair, pushing the fallen pieces back into place. He rolled his shoulders and then winced in pain.

“Let’s get you up before someone sees us, I wouldn’t want to get mauled on my first day back,” she spoke.

She helped him to stand up and he winced once more, causing her to frown.

“I really hurt you,” she said apologetically. “We’ll get you back to the common room and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do to help, otherwise you may have to go to the hospital wing. You’ll have to lead the way since I don’t know where my new house is.”

He nodded before slowly walking down the corridors, leading Hermione through the maze of the dungeons.

“Why are you wearing Slytherin robes?” he asked her, after five minutes of walking in comfortable silence.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask,” she mused, “but it seems that Dumbledore has kicked me out of his house of heroes and placed me in the snake pit.” He smirked at her answer. “He obviously doesn’t want me corrupting the minds of his precious Potter, and deemed it necessary to place me in the house to which I truly belong, even if it means putting a noose around my neck and leaving the Slytherins to push me off my stool.”

He frowned in confusion. “I understand why he doesn’t like you.” And he did, they’d spoken in great lengths regarding their now mutual dislike for the headmaster. “But why would he think you belong to Slytherin house?”

“Because I do,” she said simply, causing him to falter in his steps slightly and he looked at her with his eyes slightly wide and his mouth on the verge of hitting the floor.

“I’m sorry?” he spluttered.

“I said, because I do. I do belong to Slytherin, it was the sorting hat’s first choice for me, but I was believed to be a Muggleborn. It wouldn’t have been safe for me growing up in your territory. It isn’t safe for me now, the only piece of mind I have is that He has taken steps to keep me safe.”

“I am well aware of that,” he confirmed.

“Is there anyone I need to watch out for? Even if I do have some form of protection, I’m not stupid enough to not be prepared for someone being unable to resist having easy access to me, especially now that my _dirty_ blood is disgracing their house.”

He frowned in thought. “You don’t have to worry about fourth years and below, they’re too scared to even go near you, even before the protection you now have. Fifth, sixth and seventh year boys mighty taunt and tease you, but they won’t hex you, they’re not stupid enough to go against their father’s orders. Mainly it’ll be the girls, fifth, sixth and seventh years. Particularly the girls in our year, you’ll need to watch out for Pansy, Daphne, Davis and Bulstroude.” She nodded. “What did he say to you?”

“Sorry?”

“Nott, what did he say to you, I’ve never seen you so angry?”

“He made the comment that I’m betraying Potter and Weasley,” she scowled.

He snorted. “You’re no longer referring to them by name, soon enough it’ll be Scar-head and Weasel, before you know it you’ll have been corrupted by Slytherin.”

“I could never be corrupted by Slytherin.”

“Why is that?”

“You’ll find out soon enough when He deems it necessary.” He scowled at her answer.

“So you said you belong in Slytherin, in most cases it runs in the family, every Malfoy and Black, with the exception of Sirius, was a Slytherin. Every Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle too.” She was well aware of that fact. “So, did your biological father attend Hogwarts and was he a Slytherin?”

“Yes,” she answered.

A smug look crossed his face at her answer. He had been trying to figure out who her father was since she’d informed him of her blood status all those weeks ago.

“But that doesn’t help you to narrow down the suspect pool; so far all you know is that he’s a Slytherin, attended Hogwarts and is a Death Eater; that could still be anyone.”

He scowled realising she was right. “I’ll learn your secret eventually,” he promised.

“I doubt it,” she shrugged, just as they stopped in front of a large portrait of a serpent. Hermione rolled her eyes at the sight.

“Passsword?” the serpent hissed.

“Basilisk Venom,” Malfoy spoke, the snake hissed and a click was heard before the portrait swung open and they both stepped through the passage as the portrait closed behind them.

Hermione’s eyes flittered around the room as she took in her new surroundings, her new home. And to be honest, she didn’t expect anything less. It was all stone walls and floors, a domineering fireplace sat in the centre of the wall with the fire burning away, the flames dancing as it consumed the firewood. The large sleeping portrait of Salazar Slytherin sat above the fireplace, with two serpent banners on either side.

The dark green leather couches and chairs were arranged in the centre of the room, but still close to the fire with a mahogany table in the centre. Study desks and chairs of the same wood were in front of the windows, of which she could see shadows of the habitants of The Black Lake swimming by in the murky water. Banners and tapestries covered the walls and the dark, heavy curtains were pulled back from the windows.

Along another wall were several bookcases filled to the brim of what looked to be school books for every year group and every lesson. The room was dark and dingy, the only light coming from the fire and the silver chandelier above that held the lit candles. It was nothing like the comfortable and warm atmosphere of the Gryffindor common room. This common room screamed wealth, power and arrogance.

She sighed, realising that she would have to get used to it.

“Lovely place you have here,” she commented, unceremoniously throwing herself down onto one of the couches, which she had to admit, was quite comfortable.

“Don’t let anyone else see you do that, you’ll all but sign your life away if a Slytherin saw your mannerisms.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Would they likely be disgusted, so disgusted they’d have a heart attack?”

“Maybe not a heart attack.”

“Fainting? I’ll take it,” she grinned, amusing him.

“You’re vindictive,” he mused. She shrugged. “You’re not going to deny it?” he raised an eyebrow.

“No, I’m well aware of my vindictive streak. As is Umbridge, Marietta Edgecombe and your nose,” she said sweetly.

He scowled at her.

“Besides, it’s only you, I can be myself around you. You’re my,” she frowned in thought, “What are you? Comrade? Acquaintance? Friend?” He frowned too. “You know what? We’ll figure it out later.” She then stood and turned to face him. “Sit,” she ordered. He raised an eyebrow. “Sit,” she repeated with narrowed eyes and pointing to the spot she had just vacated.

He gave her a strange look before doing as she said and she walked around to the back of the couch so she stood behind him and she patted his shoulder. “Right then, I need to see your back to see the damage, you don’t have to undress, just slip your robes off so I have easier access.”

She sensed a crude remark about to leave his mouth and prodded him where she knew he was currently hurting. He hissed a profanity and glared at her over his shoulder, but remained silent as he grumpily shrugged off his robes.

Hermione put her hand in-between his shoulder blades and gently pushed forward, guiding him to lean forward so she had better access to his injury. She then took a hold of his jumper and shirt and pulled them out of his trousers and lifted them up to his shoulder blades.

The first thing she noticed was that his pale skin was marred by an ugly and large bruise that had already begun to form and was dark in colour. It was located in the centre of his back and looked to be very painful. She’d seen bludger induced bruises that hadn’t even looked as bad as the bruise she was currently staring at.

She gently ran her fingertips around the edges of the bruises to determine where the pain ended for Malfoy and his hisses and grunts gave her the answers she needed. She took out her wand and summoned Fred and George’s Bruise Removal Paste from her trunk, before lathering the disgusting thick paste over and around the injured area.

Malfoy hissed, but it soon turned into a sigh as the pain began to numb with every gentle touch of Hermione’s hand. When she was done she dropped his clothing and sent the paste back to her trunk before cleaning away the paste from her hands and moving sit on one of the armchairs.

“What is that stuff?” he rolled his shoulders.

“Bruise Removal Paste, a rather ingenious invention. It won’t heal your bruise instantly, it’ll take a few days minimum, but it’s quicker than healing spells,” she explained.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing, where did you get it?” he asked, sounding impressed.

“Fred and George Weasley gave it me.” She saw his mouth turn up in disgust. “Hey, you can wipe that look off your face; Fred and George Weasley are kind people. Sure they’re pains in the arse and they shouldn’t be trusted if they have smiles on their faces, but they are kind, smart and nothing like the rest of The Weasleys.” She defended. “During the holidays when everyone turned cold towards me due to Dumbledore’s influence, they didn’t change and they treated me as they always have. They even stood up for me against their mother when she stopped inviting me to mealtimes.”

“It’s thanks to them that I healed so quickly after my attack. They gave me their Bruise Removal Paste and my bruises were gone within four days, whereas Madam Pomphrey said it should’ve taken three weeks at minimum. And they saved my life. They’re the ones that found me and brought me to safety, I would’ve died if they hadn’t have found me. You can talk shit about the rest of The Weasleys if you wish to, but I insist that you do not do so with Fred and George.”

He blinked in surprise at her outburst before she stood up and stormed towards the stairwell that led to the girl’s dorm rooms.

~000~000~000~

 _Typical,_ Hermione thought with a roll of her eyes, as she found herself standing in the centre of her new dorm room, the colour scheme green, silver and the grey of the stone walls and floor.

Her eyes flittered around the room, seeing the large four-poster bed that sat in the centre of the back wall with dark green bedding and a large silver serpent in the centre of her bedspread, and the thick silver curtains tied back against the bedposts. Two windows sat on either side of the bed with dark green curtains tied back, and a dark wood bedside table sat on the right side of the bed.

Opposite her bed, there was a large desk and chair pushed against the wall, with a wardrobe and chest of drawers off to the left of it. A small stone fireplace sat on the left wall with a silver rug in front of it, and not far from it was a door. She walked over to the door and opened it, revealing a bathroom that was to clearly be shared by several teenage girls.

She stepped inside seeing the bathroom decorated in silver and green, though unlike the bedroom, the bathroom appeared to be predominantly silver with only touches of green and white. She ignored the sinks, toilets and shower stalls and headed straight to the door on the other side of the wall. Opening it, it revealed another dorm room identical to hers; only this one sat four beds rather than one and it had a little more furniture accommodating to more people.

She sighed. Well, at least she’d been given her own sleeping space. She could easily enough charm her door to prevent the others from sneaking into her room and killing her in her sleep. That was some comfort she supposed.

She closed the door and made her way back to her own room, stepping in she noticed that the fireplace had been lit in her very short absence and her eyes landed on that of the giant, ginger fur-ball curled up on the rug in front of the warmth of the fire.

“Hey, Crooksy, do you like your new rooms?” she asked her familiar.

The lazy cat opened a singular eye and stared at her, before closing it again and ignoring her presence, falling asleep within moments.

Hermione huffed. “So ungrateful,” she scowled.

She turned and stormed over to the bed, flopping down onto her back and ruining the perfectly made-up bed. She stared up at the ceiling, her conversation with Nott flittering through her mind. The more she tried to forget about it, the harder she found it to do so, and the more she thought about it, the angrier she got.

How dare he say that about her! She wasn’t a traitor. She’d stood by Harry and Ron over the last six years; she’d forgiven them for their wrongful treatment of her and of others. She’d forgiven them for all of their transgressions towards her, even though they never believed they were in the wrong and stating that she was just being too ‘emotional’, often being so insensitive towards her feelings that on several occasions they’d even asked if it was her time of the month due to her constant nagging that they do their homework.

She had forgiven them time and time again and they never learned their lesson. They never said sorry, they didn’t even care that they’d hurt her feelings. They were using her and it’d taken her far too long for her to take off the blinders she wore, and that had finally happened all but a few days after her attack.

_“Hermione, I need you to do my potions assignment for me, I can’t do it. Hermione, Hermione wake up.”_

_“What, Ronald?” she replied groggily, shielding her eyes from the blinding light coming through the window and into her room._

_Her head was pounding, hence the reason she’d been asleep at midday, normally she’d be up and ready by seven, but with her attack, she needed all the rest she could get to allow her body to heal. Not that she complained, when she slept she couldn’t feel the pain and her mind wasn’t on overload trying to figure out who her attackers were, at least for a short while._

_“My potions assignment,” he said slowly, as though he were talking to a small child._

_“It’s not hard, Ronald. Everything you need to know is in your potions textbook, chapter seven. If you can’t find yours use Harry’s. If you can’t find his either, mine’s on the desk, third book from the bottom.”_

_“Hermione,” he whined. “You can’t expect me to do it by myself.”_

_“I can and I do. In case you haven’t noticed, Ronald, I’m bed bound. I can’t move without wanting to pass out from the pain. My head’s hurting now from just talking to you. So leave me alone and let me sleep.”_

_“You’re being ridiculous,” he huffed._

_“Ridiculous? I could’ve died if it weren’t for Fred and George finding me. I would’ve and we wouldn’t be having this bloody conversation right now because you’d be attending my funeral.”_

_“Drama Queen,” he mumbled quietly, but not quietly enough._

_“Drama Queen!” Her temper was beginning to rise. How dare he? “How dare you! Anything could’ve happened to me. I could’ve been kidnapped. I could’ve been tortured to insanity. I could’ve been raped. I could’ve been killed.”_

_His face scrunched up. “Bloody hell, ‘Mione, calm down.”_

_“Calm down. Calm down!” her voice rose, and despite the pains and aches it caused, she pushed herself up until she was sitting up straight and her eyes were narrowed into slits. “Where’s my wand?” she hissed, her hand digging beneath her pillow in search of her wand. She felt the familiar wave of safety wash over her and she gripped her wand, pulling it out from beneath her pillow._

_“Ronniekins, Mum wants to see you,” George chirped, waltzing into her room without so much as knocking._

_“She’s left a pie on the kitchen table and wants your opinion on whether or not she should stick with the old recipe or change to the improved one,” Fred spoke, with an innocent look on his face. Hermione noticed and knew the twins were up to something, Ron, however, fell for it._

_His eyes lit up at the mention of food._

_“I’ll see you later when you’re in a better mood,” he grumbled._

_Hermione flung a non-verbal hex at his retreating back, fortunately for Ron, George thought ahead and cast a shield behind his brother, looking at Hermione amused._

_“Just out of curiosity, what would that have done?” Fred asked; a mischievous sparkle to his eyes._

_“You’ve seen Ginny’s Bat-Bogey Hex?”_

_They both scoffed. “Course we have,” George said. “We’re the ones that taught her it.”_

_“Well, my hex would’ve made the Bat Bogey look like sunshine and rainbows.” They smirked at her. “Now, what have you done to that pie?”_

_“We don’t know what you mean,” Fred said, sticking his hands in his pockets with an innocent smile on his face._

_“Ronald may have fallen for it, but I’m not that dense.” They grinned at her._

_“Let’s just say he’s not going to want to leave his room for a while.” She raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t comment._

_“Why did you do that?” she asked and they both shrugged._

_“You’ve been through enough as it is, without adding Ronniekins to your list of problems. He’s an arsehole, always has been and always will be,” George said._

_“Dropped on his head too many times as a baby,” Fred nodded in agreement. “There’s nothing that can be done. But if we can keep him away from you for a little while, at least until you’re no longer bed-bound, then we will.”_

_She stared at them both, unable to find the words to reply._

_“Hermione, why won’t you help Ron with his potions assignment? Just do it and he’ll stop bothering you, we can do my DADA at the same time.” Harry entered the room, frowning slightly when he not only saw the twins in her room, but also that they were currently stood on either side of the bed, looking down at her since they’d moved closer to her during their conversation._

_Hermione gripped her wand and gritted her teeth, feeling her anger and her headache make a reappearance._

_“Merlin, Harry, let the poor witch rest, would you?” Fred jumped in._

_“Yeah, she may be The Brightest Witch, but even she needs to take a break, particularly since her body’s not completed the healing process yet,” George added._

_Harry looked her up and down, scrutinizing her. “She looks fine to me,” he shrugged._

_The twins visibly gaped at him. “Fine! She looks as though she’s about to pass out from the pain she’s likely feeling. She’s got dozens of potions in her body, trying to keep her healthy and ensuring the healing process isn’t derailed,” Fred glared at Harry._

_“It’s not like she died,” he muttered quietly._

_“I suggest you leave whilst you still have your head attached to your body,” George warned. “We’re working on a few products for the shop and you’d make a brilliant guinea pig. Sales would skyrocket if our customers discovered you’d tested our products for us.”_

_Harry didn’t stick around long enough to reply._

_The twins turned their eyes back to her, seeing her anger having faded only to be replaced by sadness and disappointment._

_“I don’t know why you’re so loyal to him,” Fred commented, his voice quiet and puzzled._

_“He’s my friend,” she replied._

_“We’ve seen him treat Malfoy better than he does you. I guess that goes to show the kind of person you are. You’re a good witch, and you shouldn’t let anyone tell you otherwise, nor should you ever let anyone but yourself dictate your own life,” George told her. “Honestly, as much as we care for Harry, he doesn’t deserve your loyalty or friendship, and neither does Ron.”_

No. Hermione hadn’t betrayed them. She’d finally stood up for herself, and if it wasn’t for The Weasley Twins, who knows where she would be now? She owed her life and her freedom to them.

When the time came, she would protect them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 8

**Hogwarts**

Hermione woke the next morning in a comfortable bed and to the sound of rain pelting against the windows and the wind’s whistles echoing. She lifted her head from her pillow and peered to the window, the rain running down the glass distorting her view of the dark grey sky.

Hermione sighed, because that was a great indication of how her day was going to go. She couldn’t tell the time by the dark sky, so she cast a charm with her wand, indicating that it was a little after six in the morning.

Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep, she climbed out of bed, hissing when her bare feet touched the freezing cold stone of the floor. She summoned her slippers from her trunk, laughing to herself when she saw the white fur, pink floppy ears and the large googly eyes, depicting a bunny rabbit.

Her brain called forth fond memories of the animal slippers of her youth, her mother buying her a new pair each year, and each year she would receive a different animal representation, especially since starting Hogwarts. Her first year she’d been given kitten slippers, her second year she received dog slippers, her third piggy slippers, her fourth teddy bear slippers and her fifth she’d had monkey slippers. Her mother had decided that her sixth year would be the year of the rabbit. 

She shook her head before climbing out of bed, this time her feet were protected from the cold stone floor, but the rest of her was exposed to the chill of the dungeons, and it was far colder than she remembered it ever being in Gryffindor Tower.

She retrieved her wash products and a clean towel, before entering the bathroom and quickly showering, making sure she was washed and dry long before any of the other girls would wake. She dressed in her new uniform ready for the first day of school, before making her bed, sighing when Crookshanks jumped up and wrinkled up the covers as he curled up in a ball and fell asleep. Seeing no point in antagonising the ginger fur-ball that was her familiar, she turned away from the bed and made her way over to the wardrobe, opening the first door where a mirror was attached on the inside.

She looked herself over, feeling strange wearing her new house colours and emblem. She knew she belonged in Slytherin, it was in her blood after all, and it had been the Sorting Hat’s first choice, but for her safety, she was placed elsewhere.

Gryffindor has been her home for the last five years. She’d completed more assignments in the common room than she had in her dorm room or the library. She had curled up on the worn armchair and read a book in front of the fire almost every night. She had watched Harry and Ron play wizard’s chess more times than she could count.

She felt strange, not only had Gryffindor been her home, it had also been her prison. She hadn’t felt free. She hadn’t felt supported, cared for, appreciated. She’d been pulled into arguments and fights, she’d been forced to set aside her own ambitions and studies in order to help others who didn’t even appreciate what she had sacrificed.

She felt as if a part of her old self had died and she was being reborn, forming into a newer, better version of herself. She was a Slytherin, not just by house association, but by name and blood. She had his blood flowing through her veins. No matter what anyone said about her new standing, she couldn’t let them get to her. She wouldn’t let them shame her.

She was the daughter of the Dark Lord, the heir to Slytherin himself, and she would be dammed if she let anyone make her feel bad for that. She was proud of her blood. She did not care for their past actions, for blood prejudice, for her father’s cause, and she did not care for the mistreatment of Muggleborns, but she could look past that. Both her father and Salazar Slytherin were very powerful, brilliant wizards, despite their actions, that could not be denied. So yes, she was proud of her family.

Realising this fact, she suddenly stood taller and fixed her robes until there was not a crease, wrinkle or cat hair to be seen. She examined her hair, deciding to leave it cascading down her back in curls. She waved her wand, drying the strands and removing the frizz, leaving sleek and shiny curls. With a few pretty hairpins, she pinned her hair back and out of her face so it wouldn’t irritate her during the day.

She nodded to herself and made her way over to her bedside table where she had placed her prefect badge. She intended to pin it to her robes, but when she stood beside the bedside table, the badge was gone. She frowned; she was certain she had placed it on the wooden surface; it had been right next to her wand.

A small slip of parchment caught her attention and she picked it up, lifting it up into her line of sight, taking in the words written slowly.

_Miss. Granger,_

_It is unfortunate that I must inform you that your role as sixth year prefect is no longer possible and the title and responsibilities have been revoked. As you are no longer a member of Gryffindor house, it is impossible that you are able to represent and uphold the ideals and morals of Godric Gryffindor himself._

_Due to the restrictions of there being one male and one female prefect per year, per house (fifth year and above, of course), and the roles of prefects already being filled by two others in your year in Slytherin house, it is not possible to transfer your duties._

_Please take this as an opportunity to improve your studies, I was surprised to learn you received an E grade in Defence Against the Dark Arts, I had been expecting more from you._

_Professor Dumbledore._

Hermione felt her lungs burning with the need for oxygen, and realising that she had stopped breathing, she took in large gulps greedily as she coughed. She rubbed at her throat with her hand and the other gripped the parchment in her hand tightly, as anger and hatred filled her.

How dare he?!

What right did he have to do that? She had spent years proving herself, working hard to achieve the best grades in her year, once, she had even gotten the highest results for end of year examinations in the entire castle. As for her E grade, she had gotten that due to her time being spent planning lessons for Harry, for the D.A, which had been created in his honour. If anything, it was his fault and Harry’s that her grade was not what she had deserved.

And she was a good prefect! She never abused her power, she used it to help others, whether it to be with homework, with first years getting lost or finding an upset witch or wizard that needed comforting.

She had given him no reason to release her of her duties. She could not help who her father was or which bloodline she had been born to. As far as Dumbledore knew, she was still a loyal little lapdog of The Order and Harry Bloody Potter. He knew nothing of her switching sides, of her meeting her father and them bonding in a way even she hadn’t expected.

Her hatred for the old fool had only increased with his latest actions and she couldn’t wait for the day when her father finally rid the world of him.

She jumped when the parchment in her hand suddenly caught fire, apparently her emotions having gotten the better of her. She dropped the parchment to the ground and stomped out the fire, knowing her father would want to see the evidence of Dumbledore’s latest transgression against her. Luckily the parchment was only missing a corner and the edges had blackened, but none of the words had been damaged.

She took a deep breath, making sure she had regained control over herself, before stuffing the parchment into her pocket, pocketing her wand and not being aware of her class schedule as of yet, she left her room without her school bag and made her way down to the common room, but not before she made sure she had warded her bedroom door.

She had expected the common room to be empty given the time, breakfast didn’t start until half-past seven in the morning, it was fifteen minutes from that and even then, most students didn’t emerge from their dorms until after eight o’clock, which is why she was surprised when she saw Draco Malfoy lounging on the couch, looking as though he owned the world and had been waiting for her. Like the true Pureblood he was and had been raised to be, he stood upon her entrance to the common room and tipped his head forward.

“Granger,” he greeted.

“Malfoy,” she replied, and her surprise must’ve shown on her face since his mouth twitched into a smirk.

“I figured you’d be an early riser,” he commented.

“I am. Were you waiting for me?”

He nodded. “Yes, before returning to Hogwarts I was asked to keep an eye on you.” She frowned. “Now that you are in Slytherin, it will be a lot easier to do so, and given the circumstances, I thought it best to escort you to breakfast, at least for the next few days.”

“I...” she tried to speak but words failed her, and he raised an eyebrow. She cleared her throat. “Well, thank you.”

He nodded his head. “Everyone knows you are capable of taking care of yourself, but another set of eyes and ears wouldn’t hurt.”

She nodded, and she blinked in surprise when he approached her, stopping beside her and offering her his arm. She looked at it and then up to him.

He seemed to understand her line of thinking, seeing as it was too risky for them to be seen together, especially so early on in the year. She had been tasked to keep an eye on Harry and Ron and to learn any valuable information and pass it on to her father. Of course, that was going to be much harder now. If they hadn’t trusted her before, they certainly wouldn’t now. She had to be careful and if they were to see her with Draco Malfoy, well, they’d never speak to her again, making her task much harder.

“No one is going to see, Granger,” he promised.

She slowly nodded and slipped her arm through his, her hand resting in the crook of his elbow as he led her to the entrance and they stepped into the cold hallways of the dungeons.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked her.

She nodded. “I did, thank you, I don’t know why but I’ve been given my own room, though I still have to share the bathroom.”

A thoughtful look appeared on his face. “He’s a fool, but even he knows that should any harm come to you, the board of governors would turn against him. I have no doubt that you would not be safe having to share a dorm room.”

“I know what they’d do to me; it’s why I made sure to ward my door against them.”

“Daphne’s good at removing wards, she’s easily able to get through the wards on the boy’s staircase and into the dorm rooms, and they were cast by Dumbledore himself, reinforcing the already existent wards from headmasters before him.”

She raised an eyebrow at the obvious meaning to his words, he was not only informing her of Greengrass’ talents, but that she spends a lot time in the boy’s dorms too, and there was only one reason for that.

“Thank you for letting me know,” she tipped her head. “But I assure you, they won’t be able to get through my wards, I’ve got several layered together and it would take months for Greengrass to break through, not only due to that, but also because He was the one that showed me how to cast the wards.”

He looked at her surprised. _The Dark Lord was teaching her magic?_ He thought. _Why would he do that?_

“The layering of the wards changes frequently and without a pattern, and if there is no pattern, then it cannot be broken,” she explained. “We were able to create this particular ward together.”

He blinked. Not only was He teaching her magic, but He was _creating_ forms of magic with her, too?

“How’s your back?” she inquired, changing the subject.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and answered. “Not a mark in sight.”

“I’m glad to hear that, I truly am sorry.”

“We’ve been over this, it was an accident and there was no serious damage. It was my own fault,” he told her, just as they reached the great hall doors.

The doors were open and the hall was completely empty of everything but the house tables and the hanging tapestries. As they stepped inside, the tables suddenly filled with food, allowing them to have the first pickings at breakfast that morning.

“Mr. Malfoy, Miss. Granger,” a silky voice greeted.

Hermione stiffened when Professor Snape stepped around them, coming to a stop in front of them. Malfoy merely nodded, before patting Hermione on the hand and then removing it from the crook of his elbow and retreating from beside her, making his way to his usual seat at the Slytherin table, putting him out of hearing distance.

“Professor,” she spoke, trying to keep herself calm. She knew he was a spy for The Order, what if he told Dumbledore that she was suddenly friendly with Malfoy?

He watched her closely, his dark eyes sweeping over her as if looking for something and he must’ve found it because he nodded to himself.

“I have been asked to give you this,” he spoke, removing a small envelope from his robe pocket and he held it out to her.

She cautiously took it from him and removed the parchment from the envelope, a smile pulling at her mouth at the words before her.

_Your blood is my blood. You are where you belong. You are a Slytherin, far above the old fool. Do not let him win. Fight._

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. She knew exactly who it was from and she didn’t bother questioning how he had known of her circumstances, he had eyes and ears everywhere.

She tore her eyes away from the parchment and slipped it into her pocket, seeing Professor Snape watching her curiously; he didn’t know what the words on the parchment said, but he knew who it was from.

“You look like him,” he muttered quietly.

Her eyes darted about the great hall, seeing that it was still empty but for herself, Snape and Malfoy, who was busy pouring himself some tea.

“You know?” she asked. He nodded slowly, still staring at her with those dark eyes, as if he was trying to convince himself of what he was seeing.

“How?”

“Dumbledore.”

At the mention of his name, Hermione felt her magic flare up and she took a deep breath, calming herself. When she opened her eyes, Snape was still watching her carefully.

“You truly are his daughter,” he muttered. “It is so clear to see, I don’t know how I never noticed it before,” he frowned.

“You weren’t looking,” she shrugged. “What are your intentions?” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t trust you,” she stated and he didn’t look surprised. “Dumbledore believes you to be his spy, my father believes you to be his spy, yet I don’t know which side you are truly on.”

He titled his head to the side, contemplating her words.

“You are right, you don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, before shaking her head and sighing. “I suspect you will see him long before I do, will you give him something for me and without telling Dumbledore?”

He nodded slowly and she removed the charred parchment from her pocket and handed it over. The curiosity got the better of him seeing the state of the parchment and he quickly read over the words, feeling his eyebrows rise in surprise.

“He is certainly not going to be happy,” he commented.

“I imagine not,” she agreed.

“I will give it to him,” he tipped his head. “And I was asked to give you this.”

He removed his wand from his robe pocket and waved it in a strange swirl-flick-swirl motion before a lone, thorn-less rose appeared and she gasped softly, as she plucked it out of the air and held it gently in her hands. 

It was beautiful and she had never seen anything like it. She was used to seeing roses of reds, pinks, yellows, and white, but this rose was so very different, and very beautiful. It had emerald green petals with the outer edges of each petal being silver in colour.

“’For a Slytherin rose,’ were his words.”

She lifted her eyes from the rose held delicately in her hands and looked to Snape.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she commented softly.

“I believe he charmed it himself, solely for you.” She blinked, her eyes falling down to the rose in her hand. “It will survive as long it is kept in freshwater, if it is out of water for more than an hour, it will whittle and die.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Professor.”

He tipped his head and made to turn and move to the head’s table, but he stopped himself mid-turn. His eyes moved to Malfoy and then back to her.

“I am on your side,” he muttered quietly.

She wasn’t sure she believed him.

“And do not worry; your relationship with Mr. Malfoy will not be known.”

She frowned slightly. “Relationship? We’re friends, if that, we’ve come to an understanding and have since decided it best to be civil, and since, I’ve come to learn he’s not as bad as he’s led people to believe.”

She felt as if he were looking into her very soul and shuffled on her feet.

“As I said, your relationship will be kept quiet,” he said, before turning fully and making his way to the head’s table.

Hermione’s frown deepened before she shook her head and made her way over to the Slytherin table, taking a seat at the end of the table. She placed the rose on her lap, being sure to cover it with her robes. She’d have to keep it hidden until she could return to her dorm room and place it in some water when she later went to collect her books before class.

She selected herself a bowl of porridge and some fresh fruit, along with a cup of tea for breakfast. A sheet of parchment appeared in front of her and she picked it up, seeing it to be her class schedule. She sipped at her tea, memorising it and making a mental note of which books she would need for the day, just as students began to slowly trickle into the great hall and take their seats.

Hermione ignored everything around her and despite already knowing her class schedule by this point, she kept her attention on it, until she felt a gaze on her. And not just any gaze; it felt as if someone was trying to burn a hole straight through her. She slowly lifted her head, her eyes scanning the great hall which was almost at full capacity.

She came to a stop when found the culprits, and they were sat at the Gryffindor table.

Harry and Ron.

She caught their gaze and they quickly looked away from her, but she hadn’t missed the looks of disgust they sent her way first.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She just knew today was going to be awful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 6

Page Count: 6

Hermione had spent her time during breakfast as quiet as possible, keeping herself to herself and ignoring the stares she received from the confused students of other houses, and the glares of students from her own house. As soon as she’d finished her breakfast, she’d made a retreat from the great hall and headed back to her dorm in order to prepare her school bag for the coming day.

Once she’d packed everything she needed, placed her beautiful Slytherin rose in a transfigured vase filled with water and checked her appearance one last time, she left her dorm and headed to the first lesson of the day, potions.

As usual, she was the first one there and she spent her time contemplating what the new potions’ professor would be like, wondering if he’d be as strict as Snape or as useless as Lockhart. Soon enough other students arrived and lined up outside the classroom, gossiping in their groups and Hermione thought she did well to ignore their comments and stares.

As soon as the door opened, the students filed inside and Hermione waited until last as she didn’t want to be knocked into as everyone tried to squeeze through the door at once. As she entered the classroom, she was aware that is was mostly filled with students taking their seats, but there were still a few that had yet to arrive.

Making her way to her usual seat, she squeezed past students that stood in the middle of the aisles and removed her bag from her shoulder, placing it on the workbench and pulling out her stool, sitting down in-between Harry and Ron, who had somehow snuck into the classroom without her noticing.

“Morning, boys,” she said cheerfully, pushing her dislike and anger aside and adopting her usual chirping tone she had on the first day of lessons. She had a job to do and she wouldn’t fail because of her own thoughts and feelings. “I hope you both slept well, please tell me you didn’t stay up late like you usually do. This is the start of our NEWTs and the syllabus is going to be so much more demanding than previous years.” She looked to them each in turn, seeing their disgusted looks but she dutifully ignored them. “I wonder if this new professor will live up to Snape’s previous standards,” she mused. “Anyway, I trust you enjoyed breakfast, Ronald, did you have chance to try the new rhubarb jam? I wasn’t too sure on it at first, but it certainly tasted delicious after adding whipped cream onto the waffles.”

She looked to the redhead, keeping a friendly smile on her face despite the fact she wanted nothing more than to hex him for the current look of loathing he was sending her way. She looked down to her school bag and removed her new potions book, placing it on the workbench in front of her.

“Is everything alright, you’re awfully quiet this morning? Oh, do you not feel well? Maybe you should go to the hospital wing, do you have a temperature?” She said worriedly, a slight frown pulling at her face.

She lifted her hand in order to gauge his temperature by pressing it against his forehead, but he leaned back from her, almost falling off his stool in the process. She kind of wished he had.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you!” Ron demanded, not bothering to keep his voice quiet and attracting more than a few glances from other students.

She frowned in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean. I feel completely fine, it’s you I’m worried about.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked from beside her.

She turned to look at him. “The same as you, of course, waiting for the new professor to arrive so we may begin the lesson, silly,” she laughed lightly, shaking her head and giving him a smile.

“What are you doing _sitting_ here?” He rephrased. She frowned once more. “You’re a _Slytherin_ ,” he spat the word as if it left a horrible taste in his mouth.

Hermione sighed. “I’m aware, Harry. I don’t like this as much as you do, but for reasons I’m unaware of, Dumbledore has seen it fit that I be resorted and the hat chose Slytherin. I won’t even begin to try to understand the way his twisted mind works.”

“Dumbledore’s a great man,” Harry defended instantly, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Of course he is,” she agreed, despite those words making her feel ill as they left her mouth. “But you can’t deny that he’s awfully strange and he can’t be trusted to tell the whole truth, he’s kept many things from us over the years, things that could’ve helped us immensely.”

Harry made to respond but Ron picked up her potions book and her bag from the workbench and dumped them into her arms. She looked to him in surprise. The force he’d done it with had actually hurt, the corner of the book digging into her forearm.

“You’re not welcome here, _Slytherin_ ,” he hissed quietly, his eyes filled with hatred and disgust.

“Are you being serious?” She asked in surprise, her eyes widening.

She saw Harry clench his hands into tight fists from the corner of her eye, making her realise that her words had been poorly chosen, having forgotten that Sirius Black had died the previous year.

“You’re going to allow something as trivial as my resorting come between our friendship? It’s not my fault, Ron, obviously the Sorting Hat thought I am now more suited to Slytherin after everything we’ve been through these last few years.”

“You’re not welcome here,” he repeated. “And don’t ever talk to us again.”

“But...” Hermione spoke, her voice sounding quiet and confused and broken, and she forced tears into her eyes, her lip trembling.

“Go, Granger!” Harry snapped, giving her stool a kick with his foot.

The stool slid backwards away from the workbench and she almost toppled off it, before she gave a sniffle, stood from her stool and walked away from the bench with her book and school bag in her arms, her body hunched over and her face hidden, ignoring the surprised and confused glances of the other students as she made her way to the only seat available in the room, and of course, it was on the Slytherin side.

She slid onto the stool and placed her bag under the workbench and set her book on top of it, keeping her head down.

“Nicely done, Granger,” a voice muttered from beside her. “I must say, that was a performance worthy of an ‘O’, even I almost believed it.”

“I have a job to do, I won’t let them keep me from completing it,” she replied in a mutter of her own, bringing her hand up to her face so to the others in the room it would look as though she were wiping away her fallen tears, when in reality, she was simply scratching an itch.

“Well, given their treatment of you just now, I imagine whatever you have been tasked with is now going to be a lot more difficult.”

“Not necessarily,” she said, before slowly lifting her head and those that had been staring at her quickly turned around in their seats, and she turned her head to see the bright blue eyes watching her.

While her task of keeping tabs on Harry would’ve been a lot easier if he were still friends with her, his changed feelings towards her hadn’t hindered her in the slightest. She knew Dumbledore had been whispering to him, his distrust of her had started long before she’d been sorted into Slytherin, it had started the moment Dumbledore had discovered her identity during the summer, and as such, she’d already planned for it happening. She knew exactly what she was going to do.

Just then, the new professor entered the room, Horace Slughorn, and Hermione wondered why he’d suddenly come out of retirement. The way his eyes immediately moved to Harry led her to believe the enemy of her father new far more than she realised, and she’d have to do some digging into Slughorn’s past. There was no way it was a coincidence.

Slughorn clapped his hands together before pushing his ugly brown robes aside and resting his hands on his hips, showcasing his round stomach.

“First things first, I hope you have chosen your desk mates wisely as they will be your lab partners for the foreseeable future,” Slughorn spoke, his eyes darting about the classroom and taking in the faces of his students.

“Well, Granger, it seems you and I are going to be seeing a lot more of each other,” Nott spoke.

She turned her head to look at him. “Well, at least I know you’re capable of not completely butchering my future grades.”

His mouth twitched into a smirk, knowing she’d given him a compliment whilst also trying not to. “Between us, we’ll have the highest grades in the school.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Hermione muttered, noting the way Slughorn’s eyes gleamed when he looked at Harry. She just knew he was going to be the professor’s favourite student, and her dislike for The-Boy-Who-Lived only grew.

~000~000~000~

Hermione silently fumed as she sat at a desk by herself, right at the front of her defence against the dark arts class. The seat beside her was empty, no one wanted to sit next to her; the other houses being too afraid of the glares Hermione was receiving from two particular Gryffindors, and the Slytherins would rather face a blast-ended skrewt than be in close proximity to her.

Her day had been as awful as she had thought it would be, being unable to escape the gossip and stares, being unable to have a quiet lunch break, being unable to take the confused glances of her professors at seeing her new house colours and at her being on the outs with Harry and Ron. And to make matters worse, she’d been completely right about Slughorn.

He’d chosen his favourite student long before he’d stepped foot into the classroom and judging by the way he interacted with Harry, she believed they’d met before, possibly even outside of school. She knew Dumbledore had collected Harry from the Dursley’s himself, and she knew from Harry that Dumbledore had taken him somewhere, and this was before his distrust of her had begun.

Despite her and Theo Nott having made their Draught of Peace Potion perfectly and to a standard even Snape would’ve been impressed with, Slughorn had chosen to single out Harry for his excellent potion skills, and she knew immediately that something wasn’t right. Harry was rubbish at potions, the only reason he’d gotten to NEWT level being that she’d usually been his partner and done all the work. She’d seen the way his eyes lit up the moment he’d been told to retrieve a potions book from the shelf, after having given Ron his own. There was something about that book, she was sure of it. She’d walked past his workbench to return the ingredients back to the cupboard when she’d caught sight of familiar-looking scribbles being in the margins of the book. She had to find a way to get a better look at it, whatever it contained, it was certainly interesting enough that Harry had sat through lunch reading it, rather than conversing with Ron. She’d never seen Harry do that in the time she’d known him.

The scraping of a chair against the stone floor drew her attention and she wasn’t sure if she was surprised or annoyed to see that it was Theo Nott, and he sat himself down beside her.

“Four times in one day, aren’t I lucky?” Hermione said quietly, referring to the fact he’d not only sat next to her in potions but also in arithmancy and ancient runes, seeing as they had those classes together, too.

Though she had to admit, he wasn’t a terrible desk mate. He got on with his work quietly and didn’t interrupt her, and he’d done his share of brewing the Draught of Peace Potion and he was able to keep up with her. For once in her life, Hermione didn’t have to do all the work and admitted that it was nice. She knew Nott’s grades were just as important to him as they were to her, so she knew she could count on him to pull his weight when it came to brewing potions together.

“I’m sure I’m the lucky one,” he replied, his mouth pulling into a half-smile that was actually quite attractive. “After all, I have the great Hermione Granger as my desk mate. I imagine the others are jealous with envy.”

“Is that so?” She replied, lifting her clasped hands and settling them on the desk in front of her.

“Of course, I’m in the best position to copy your test answers.”

Despite herself, she felt amusement bubble up within her at his reply and a snort left her.

“I suppose you are, Nott, don’t be surprised if our answers don’t match up, but for future reference, I’m always right.”

“Noted,” he replied, his mouth twitching into a smirk.

Snape slammed the doors shut behind him, everyone startled except for herself and Nott knowing that Snape was always punctual and it was exactly three-thirty on the dot. Snape’s robes billowed behind him as he stalked down the aisles, sparing a brief glance to Hermione and Nott, his eyebrow raising slightly before he turned to face the class of students, a look of dislike on his face when his eyes fell to Harry.

 _At last, all is right with the world,_ Hermione thought in relief.

“You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion, I am surprised so many of you scraped an OWL in this subject,” Snape spoke.

His dark eyes deliberately searched the room and landed on some students in particular and Hermione sniggered when his eyes landed on Ron. Snape’s eyes fell to her, but surprisingly, he didn’t scold her like she’d expected him to.

“I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with NEWT work, which will be more advanced,” he continued. “Now, let’s begin,” he spoke, flicking his wand to the chalkboard, a piece of chalk levitating and scribbling away, leaving behind a short paragraph.

“With the information on the chalkboard, which of you can tell me what we will be studying in the coming days?”

Hermione’s hand shot up immediately, Snape ignored her as usual but this time she didn’t feel offended as his gaze quickly went to Ron.

“Mr. Weasley,” his spoke, his tone void of any emotion. “Surely you must know,”

“Dunno, Sir,” he muttered quietly in reply.

“How disappointing,” Snape spoke. “Mr. Potter? I imagine someone of your status will know the answer. Tell the class, what creature is said to be one of the foulest to inhabit the world? What creature is able to leave their victims in a permanent vegetative state, and feed off positive emotions when in close proximity to their victims?”

“Dementers,” Harry replied confidently.

“Incorrect,” Snape spoke. Harry blinked dumbly. “Miss. Granger, put me out of my misery.”

“Demen _tors_ , Professor,” she answered, lowering her arm and clasping her hands once more, sitting up straight in her chair.

“Correct, five points to Slytherin. I shall expect that Miss. Granger will be carrying the entire class this year, as usual,” he spoke, turning around with his robes billowing behind him as he headed for his desk. Hermione was more than aware of everyone blinking in surprise, including herself.

“Welcome to the dark side, Granger,” Nott muttered beside her. She turned her head slightly, getting caught in his bright blue gaze.

“I think I’m going to enjoy this year,” she replied quietly.

His mouth pulled into a smirk. “As am I,”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 10

"I thought I'd find you here."

Hermione startled, letting out a little squeak, dropping her quill against the table and almost knocking her parchment to the ground. Her eyes lifted, being surprised to see Draco Malfoy stood in front of her. Her eyes moved from him and searched her surroundings though she knew she'd find there was no one nearby that would see them together. She was in her own little hiding spot at the back of the library and few knew of its existence but apparently, Draco was one of them. She shouldn't have been surprised by that.

She drew her eyes back to him when she heard a chair scraping across the floor and she saw him sitting down opposite her, leaning back and crossing his arms against his chest and cocking a challenging eyebrow, his mouth twitching in amusement.

"You scared the hell out of me," she hissed.

His amusement suddenly faded, his eyes widening a fraction and his mouth pulling into a straight line. She knew why, when she spoke like that she sounded frighteningly like her father.

"You..." He stuttered, unable to finish his train of thought.

"I?" She questioned.

He cleared his throat and gave his head a single shake. "What are you doing here?"

"Bathing" she deadpanned.

"Careful, I almost laughed."

"And it would be such a shame for the world to see Draco Malfoy actually enjoy himself," she rolled her eyes. "I'm doing my homework."

"Already?" He questioned surprised. "I know you're a swot, but I didn't realise it was to this extent."

She almost kicked him beneath the table. Almost.

"It may be the first day of school, but I already have four homework assignments due for next week. I can't afford to waste time, especially with this being our final two years of schooling and our NEWTs are just around the corner."

He blinked slowly. "It's the first day of school, there's two years before the examinations."

"Exactly! Only two years! I've been studying for NEWT level work since I took my last OWL exam."

He rolled his eyes. "Hell, Granger, I thought Nott was bad," he muttered. "Speaking of Nott... I've noticed you've been conversing within him quite a bit today."

Her eyebrow quirked upwards. "Careful, Malfoy, you almost sound jealous that I have another Slytherin acquaintance I can have a civil conversation with."

"I'm not jealous," he denied, shifting in his chair and her mouth twitched.

"Then why bring it up?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were being careful."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid, I've learned to not give my trust so freely, at this point there are only two names in mind in which I'd trust with my life."

"And they are?" He asked curiously.

"Him and my familiar."

His brow furrowed. "You trust Him? _Him_ of all people?"

"I do, yes," she nodded, reaching for her quill and flipping the page of one of the many open books that littered the surface of the table.

"You don't trust me?"

"Not even in the slightest," she replied, her eyes focusing on the words in front of her.

"There may yet be hope for you surviving Slytherin house."

She shrugged her shoulders. "It's in my blood," she replied, her mouth twitching as she knew he wouldn't understand just how true a statement that was. "Slytherin's my home, more so than Gryffindor ever was. Now I'm not held back. Now I can be who I truly am. Now I no longer have to hide certain tendencies that most certainly wouldn't have gone over well with the Gryffindors. Anyway, what are you doing here on the first day back? Shouldn't you be signing a marriage contract with Parkinson?"

He scowled, she didn't have to look at him to know and her mouth twitched in amusement.

"Mippy," he said.

Hermione startled once more when there was a 'pop' beside the table and she lifted her eyes to him, glaring in annoyance whilst his mouth pulled into a smirk. She _really_ wanted to kick him.

"Master called for Mippy," the little house-elf squeaked.

Hermione looked to her, she knew it was a female elf given the lack of hair on the feet, hands and ears. She was small, Hermione realised, especially for an elf and she wore a silver pillowcase which had cap sleeves and a green belt with the Malfoy crest tied around the waist. Her large ears almost touched the ground when she bowed and she also had a smaller than usual nose and large, dark eyes.

"Mippy, bring supper."

"Yes, Master," she squeaked before popping out of view.

"What?" He asked, raising an eyebrow when he saw her glare.

"Must you talk to her in such a manner?" She demanded angrily.

He scoffed. "She's a house-elf, Granger, she lives to take orders. She's been my personal elf since the day I was born."

Her glare was steadily worsening. "I'm aware of that, Malfoy, but surely you can show her some kindness."

"Kindness?" He blinked dumfounded.

"Yes, kindness, or at the very least use your manners. I'm certain you were raised with them. Saying 'please' and 'thank you' is just common courtesy, whether you believe the being to be inferior to you or not. The matter of the fact is, you wouldn't survive without the elves in your manor. Can you cook your own food? Clean your own room? Do your own laundry? I didn't think so. You may be a wizard with magic stronger than a house-elf's, but they have magic, too, and it's powerful in its own right. You may be a wizard capable of tremendous things, but without those little beings, you'd be lost. You don't realise how dependent on them you are, and frankly, that's worrying to me."

He stared at her, his face remaining a blank mask but his eyes slightly wider than normal, showcasing his surprise.

"Now, why have you requested supper, dinner has not yet started."

He let out a chuckle, reaching up to push a fallen strand of hair back into place. "Merlin, Granger, you really _are_ a swot."

"And proud to be," she replied, scowling at him. "What are you even doing here?"

"You are aware that curfew is in forty minutes, yes?"

"What? But that's not possible!" She spluttered.

He raised an eyebrow before pulling his wand from his robes and after casting a Time Charm, it showed that it was, in fact, nine-twenty in the evening. She blinked in surprise.

"I was tasked with keeping an eye on you and I take that seriously. I saw you come here after DADA, you never returned to the common room and I didn't see you at dinner either, so I knew you'd be here, lost in your books. You need to eat."

She was at a loss for words and it wasn't often that happened, so she just stared at him and his cocked eyebrow. The sound of Mippy returning drew her attention and she looked to see the little elf floating a tray behind her and it lowered to the table after several of the books had been closed and stacked up to make room with a snap of her fingers.

The tray held a pot of tea, two teacups and a selection of biscuits and cakes, as well as a bowl of steaming stew and a freshly baked bread roll. Admittedly, her stomach did growl in hunger and her mouth watered at the sight.

"Would Master be needing anything else?" The little elf asked.

"No," he responded, reaching for the pot of tea.

This time Hermione didn't restrain herself and she kicked him in the shin beneath the table. He let out a hiss and glared at her before turning back to the little elf who was wringing her hands in her pillowcase.

"No, _thank you_ ," he said, sending Hermione a glare. "If you have no other chores, you may retire for the evening."

"Yes, Master," she bowed. "Miss," she bowed to Hermione, too, which made her blink in surprise and it seemed Draco looked just as shocked, too, but he shook his head.

"Does she stay at the castle?" Hermione asked, accepting her tea from him and putting it off to the side.

She then rolled up her parchment now that it'd had time to properly dry and with a flick of her wand, the remainder of the books closed and stacked themselves up, ready to be returned to their shelves.

"Yes," he answered. "When I'm at Hogwarts, she is, too, just as the personal house-elves to other Pureblood families are."

She frowned at that. "But there's house-elves here."

"Those are for the castle itself, staff members and students who don't have their own house-elves."

"It's not just a pompous, we're-better-than-everyone-else thing?"

He snorted, fixing his own tea and then setting the bowl of stew in front of her along with the bread roll on the saucer.

"Eat," he ordered.

She scowled but picked up the spoon, dipping it into the bowl and bringing it to her mouth, sighing. It _was_ as good as it smelled.

"No, Pureblood's from other houses have their elves here, too. I've seen Longbottom with his elf before, it's just as much of an idiot as he is."

Hermione scowled. "Leave him alone, he's a sweet boy."

"Oh, then why's he not spoken to you since your arrival?"

"He's a sweet boy but he's easily led. There's not a mean bone in his body."

"Plenty of fat though," he snorted. "Owe! Stop kicking me, witch!" He glared, his skin flushing a light pink in his annoyance.

"Then stop being a prat. Neville has done nothing to you, he doesn't deserve your unkind words and I'll have you know, he's starting to fill out and come into his looks."

"You know this, how?" He raised an eyebrow.

"His clothing fits a little tighter to his body than it once did, his ears are no longer too big for his head, he's got a nice smile and he's had a hair cut which compliments his features."

"Have a thing for Longbottom, do we?" He asked, his tone neutral, she noted.

"Don't be ridiculous," she replied, spooning some more stew into her mouth before reaching for the bread roll and breaking it into smaller pieces she could dip into the steaming dish. "I'd terrify him, I need a partner that's not afraid of me, my intelligence, my temper or my father."

He sat straighter in his chair, his hand pausing over a chocolate biscuit. Over the weeks she'd noticed that he had quite the sweet tooth.

"Why would someone be afraid of your father? The most feared members are part of the inner circle. Wait... _Is_ he a member of the inner circle?" He asked, his eyes gleaming with the possibility of being one step closer to discovering the identity of her father.

"You could say that," she answered, sipping from her own tea and then turning back to her stew.

"Interesting," he muttered to himself, his eyes scanning her face slowly, likely looking for any features that he'd seen on any of the inner circle members. She knew he wouldn't find any. Her father was nothing like his previous, younger self and there was no way he would know what he'd looked like in his younger years. "Lestrange?"

"Which one?" She asked.

"Rabastan,"

"No,"

His brow furrowed. "Rodolphus?" He questioned with slightly wide eyes.

Giving how old she was, he knew that Rodolphus had been married before she was born and since she'd told him her father and mother had only been bedmates, that would mean he'd had an affair.

"No," she snorted. "Do you believe your crazy bitch of an Aunt would allow me to live if I were the illegitimate child of her husband, born out of wedlock _and_ an affair?"

"I suppose not," he admitted.

"You're never going to guess his identity."

"You underestimate me," he replied.

"No, I don't. You just overestimate yourself."

The light ringing of a bell echoed through the library, breaking their staring match and alerting them to the fact the library would be closing in fifteen minutes. Thankfully, Hermione had already finished her meal and she'd put the finishing touches on her homework in her dorm room, having learned everything she needed to.

She silently sipped at her tea, selected a piece of shortbread and a little lemon cake and then he banished everything back to the kitchens. With a wave of her wand, all of the books on the table were sent back to their shelves and she stood, packing her quill and homework into her school bag, and with a second flick of her wand, the shortbread and lemon cake would be waiting for her back at her dorm room, she just hoped Crookshanks didn't get to it before she did.

Silently, she left the library being more than aware that although there were still students milling about and making their way to their common rooms, Draco walked a few steps behind her, not enough to be suspicious about but enough that he'd be able to keep an eye on her, escorting her to the common room.

When she reached the portrait she gave the password and stepped inside, the moment she did so the room fell to silence and there were so many eyes on her, she could barely count them. She came to a standstill, feeling a little overwhelmed before she remembered her father's words.

_Your blood is my blood. You are where you belong. You are a Slytherin._

She was a Slytherin and she had just as much right to be there as anyone, even more so given her lineage. She wouldn't cower before them.

Standing tall, she lifted her head and set her shoulders firmly, her eyes sweeping the silent common room until she found the one she was looking for, sat in an armchair at the back of the room, almost hidden by the shadows. Silently, she made her way around the tables and seating arrangements and headed straight to the back of the room, stopping before Theo Nott.

Sensing her presence, he lifted his head from his book, raising a curious, questioning eyebrow. "Yes, Granger?" He spoke, his voice sounding loud in the otherwise silence.

She didn't reply, rather she slipped her hand into her school bag and removed a rolled-up piece of parchment and a book, holding them out to him. His eyes dropped to her offerings and then moved back to her face.

"I've completed my half of Slughorn's assignment and retrieved the book you require to complete yours."

"I thought I was bad," he replied, reaching out to take them from her and settling them on his lap.

"Yes, well," she started, readjusting her bag on her shoulder. "There's a reason I have the best academic record of our year," she replied, turning on her heel and making her way towards the girl's staircase, leaving behind his amused twitch of the mouth, the whispers that broke out and Draco who entered the common room at that very moment, catching the tail end of her discussion.

~000~000~000~

"Drakey-Poo," Parkinson shrieked, batting her eyelashes and gesturing for him to sit beside her.

He pulled a face and looked to Nott. With a single tip of his head in his direction, he turned and headed for his own dorm room, stepping inside with Nott following him in after moments later.

"Leave," he ordered, looking to Crabbe and Goyle who were lounging on their beds and stuffing their faces as usual. They blinked at him dumbly. "Now!" He snapped.

They both startled but were quick to climb off their beds and rush out of the room, the door shutting behind them. Nott raised an eyebrow as he set his things down on his bed and then leaned against the bedpost whilst Draco removed his robes and cast a Silencing Charm around the room and then he turned to face him.

"Yes, Malfoy?" Nott drawled, looking bored.

"What are you planning?"

"Planning? You'll have to be more specific."

"Granger,"

"I haven't the foggiest what you mean," Nott replied, lifting his arms to cross over his chest.

"Don't play dumb with me, we both know you're up to something. I've been watching the two of you together all day."

Nott raised an eyebrow. "She _is_ my lab partner."

"And the rest of the day? You _chose_ to sit beside her. I know you did."

Nott shrugged. "What can I say? She's grown remarkably pretty over the years and she _is_ The Brightest Witch in the school, regardless of her blood."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I don't trust you with her."

"And you care, why?"

Draco pursed his lips. "You and I both know for reasons we're not aware of, she's suddenly forsaken Potter, and He's protecting her. Her being moved to Slytherin is dangerous."

"And this is your problem, because?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I've been ordered to keep an eye on her and make sure no harm comes to her, from anyone including those of this house."

"Your point?"

Draco clenched his hands into fists. "My point is, whatever it is you're planning, I won't let you harm her."

Nott's eyebrow quirked. "Who's to say I wish to harm her? Maybe my intentions towards her are more than academic."

Draco felt his eye twitch and his mouth pulled into a thin line. "She's a Mudblood," he replied, knowing fine well she hadn't told anyone but him about her true lineage, at least, part of it.

"Right? Unlike you, I can appreciate intelligence and beauty no matter the blood of a witch. Unlike my father, I'm not blinded by hatred."

Draco blinked slowly. "You're saying you don't believe Mudbloods are weak and vile?"

Nott shrugged his shoulders. "There's been numerous powerful Muggleborn witches throughout history and there's no actual evidence to prove they _do_ steal our magic. I won't go as far to say I'll marry one, knowing my father will kill us both, but for the time being and whilst we're in school, I won't object to having the affections of Miss. Granger."

"Because she has favour with Him," Draco spoke.

"Maybe, maybe not. And I can't help but find your hypocritical words amusing."

"Excuse me?" He questioned, reeling back slightly.

Nott's mouth pulled into a smirk. "Don't play dumb, Malfoy. You and I both know you never tortured her the way you did because you hated her. I've known for years you've been harbouring a crush on her, even when she had big teeth and bushy hair."

Draco's jaw ticked and his nails dug into his palms until he felt the sting of broken skin.

"She's grown out of both, and even when she's wearing her robes I can see she's no longer a child, but a young woman with a body half the female populace would be jealous of. I've always had my suspicions about you but it was all made clear to me the night of the Yule Ball. I've never seen you so surprised or furious, surprised by her beauty but angry that she was on the arm of Viktor Krum. Last year when you were a part of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, I know you always targeted her, I saw the way you held her to you when marching her to Umbridge's office. And to be honest, I don't care. It's clear you're never going to interact with her in any way but that of a tormentor because you can't see past her blood."

Draco refused to reply to his words, neither admitting nor denying it.

"I won't let you mess things up for me," he said. "If anything happens to her it's my head."

"Then you best keep your focus on Parkinson and Greengrass. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be," Nott spoke, pushing himself away from the bedpost, grabbing something off his bedside table and then leaving the room with the door shutting behind him.

~000~000~000~

"Nott?" Hermione questioned in surprise, staring at the wizard on the other side of her door.

In the time she'd retired to her room, she'd lit the fireplace, prepared her school bag for the following day of classes and changed into her pyjamas, a silver silk spaghetti strap top, the matching shorts and her bunny slippers.

Nott's mouth twitched at the corners, his eyes slowly raking down her body, once, twice before pausing on her chest and then returning to her face with a raised eyebrow. She flushed pink and silently summoned her robe, this one silk green and tying it around herself. If she were honest, before she would've preferred red, but she was becoming quite partial to the colour green.

"Nice slippers, Granger," he commented, stepping into her room without invitation, walking to the centre and looking around his surroundings, noting the room only housed one student and not multiple.

"Please, do come in," she said sarcastically and he looked back to her, his mouth quirking into a smile. "Thank you, they were a gift from my mother," she replied to his comment, not rising to the bait. "How did you even get up here?" She asked him, knowing there were enchantments on both the girl's and boy's staircase to prevent members of the opposite sex from sneaking about. He didn't reply to her question. "Fine, _what_ are you doing here? If the others saw you sneaking up here, I'm sure they'll make a spectacle of it. I imagine that'll ruin your reputation, the Pureblood sneaking around with the Muggleborn."

"I've never really cared what people thought of me," he shrugged his shoulders, before holding his hand out and she noticed a rolled up piece of parchment.

Curiously, she took it from him, unrolling it and her eyes scanning the contents, raising an eyebrow when she saw the runic symbols.

"I've completed my half of the ancient runes assignment."

"Are you trying to put me to shame, Nott?" She asked amused. "Whilst I was able to finish potions, DADA and arithmancy, I was unable to finish ancient runes before curfew and had to leave the library. When did you do this? I didn't see you in the library."

"During my lunch hour," he replied.

"Well, I'll have mine finished by tomorrow lunch and I'll hand it in to Babbling during my free period."

"You've a free period tomorrow?"

"Yes, second period after herbology."

"Me, too," he mused. "Why do you have your own room?" He asked, changing the subject and his eyes once more taking in his surroundings, noticing her familiar curled up by the fire and the single, green-silver rose in the vase on her bedside table which earned a curious look.

"Dumbledore may be a fool, but he understands that placing me in a room with the other girls in my year wouldn't be the wisest of decisions."

"And the rose? I've never seen anything like it."

"Not that it's any of your business, but it was a gift. Now, is there anything else or was that it?"

"Trying to get rid of me?" He asked amused.

"Yes, I thought that was obvious."

His mouth pulled into that attractive half-smile. "Very well, Granger, I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Nott," she responded, following him to the door, opening it for him and once he stepped out into the corridor, he looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes trailing her form once more, his mouth twitching into a smirk before he walked away.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 32

Weeks had passed since Hermione's return to school and in that time she'd officially become the pariah of Hogwarts.

Slytherins hated her for her believed Muggleborn status, Ravenclaws avoided her because she was top of the year for academics, Hufflepuffs were too afraid to be seen speaking to her for fear of the response from the other houses, and Gryffindors hated her for her transfer to Slytherin house regardless of the fact she'd had no choice in the matter. And it didn't help with Harry, Ron and Ginny filling their housemates' heads with thoughts of Hermione being a traitor that couldn't be trusted.

The only social interaction she received was from Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy. One, her desk mate in almost all of their shared classes and who'd sit with her in the library during their free periods, and the other who'd escort her to breakfast before the castle had woken and who'd find her in the library and remind her that curfew was upon them when she lost track of time.

She'd also noted a change in behaviour for some of her professors and although they still awarded her the marks she deserved, she noted that she was forced to work harder than the other students in her class in order to achieve them. Dumbledore's influence, she assumed. Those completely unaffected were Snape and Slughorn, the latter only having eyes for Harry and his suddenly perfect brewing technique. And it was driving her insane.

As Hermione stepped into the castle after taking a stroll around the Black Lake for a little fresh air before the weather changed and it became too cold to do so, she gripped her wand in her hand and held it down by her side, a counter charm on the tip of her tongue and ready to be cast should it need to be.

Being the new pariah of Hogwarts brought more than avoidance and hissed insults in the corridors. It also brought sneaky hexes and curses being thrown her way when her back was turned. _Cowards, the lot of them_ , Hermione thought. Of course, it was only the Slytherins and Gryffindors that were involved, and as Draco had warned previously, it was only those in her year and above, the lower years being too afraid of her. Hermione knew the Slytherins had been issued warnings by the parents that she was not to be harmed and despite knowing how cowardice most of them were when their parents were involved, (being too afraid of being blasted from the family tree for their disobedience and betrayal) that hadn't stopped them from drawing their wand on her.

The first time it'd happened had been the third day of school and between first and second period, the corridors busy and bustling with students heading to their next class. She hadn't seen who'd been responsible and given the crowd, it made it all the more humiliating.

Being hit with a Tripping Jinx, Hermione had fallen to the ground, barely catching her fall on her hands, skimming her palms and knees on the rough stone flooring and the contents of her bag spilling out. As laughter erupted around her, she hastily gathered her belongings back into her bag and made a hasty retreat to her DADA classroom, ten minutes before anyone else.

Angry at herself for not being prepared and taken off guard when she should've expected it, she'd taken a seat at her desk, conjured a glass and filled it with water before cleaning her bloody knees and palms. It was at that point when Snape unexpectedly stepped out from his office, clearly taken by surprise at her presence. After demanding she tell him what'd happened, he'd berated her for not being prepared before offering a jar of dittany for her to treat her wounds. That was the kindest act he'd ever done for her.

Ever since that day, she was always prepared and despite constantly being on the defence, once or twice they did manage to slip through her defences, especially if there was more than one of them. She never saw their faces, only their robes adorned with red or green as they fled.

Hermione made it a habit to peek around every corner and take the hidden passageways when possible, but as she neared the dungeons, the number of places to hide in the dark grew.

Seeing a figure approach her, she tightened her grip on her wand, squared her shoulders and slowed her steps, breathing a sigh of relief when Snape appeared in the torchlight.

"Professor," she greeted with a tip of her head, ignoring his eyes darting down to her wand knowingly and moving to step around him and continue towards the common room.

"Miss. Granger?" He called. "I must speak with you in my office."

Hermione froze and slowly twisted to face him. His expression was serious, grave, and the first thought that popped into her head was that someone had made a false accusation against her. When defending herself, she only cast Shielding Charms, she never fired anything back in order to avoid this exact scenario.

"I didn't do anything, Professor."

"I don't believe I said you had," was all he said before he walked passed her and continued down the dark corridor, not towards his office in the DADA classroom but his Slytherin house office, the one that contained his sleeping quarters.

Sighing, she followed after him, her eyes darting about in the darkness and refusing to stow her wand. She wouldn't put it past the Slytherins to attempt to hex her even when she was in the presence of a teacher.

When they reached his office and stepped inside, Hermione noted it was quite similar to his other office; dark furniture, neatly and meticulously organised desk and writing instruments and free of any personal items.

"Take a seat, Miss. Granger."

Silently, she crossed to the chair before his desk and sat with her back straight and her hands folded in her lap, still refusing to release her wand. He took the seat opposite her and the moment he did, the carefully blank expression of his face changed. His eyes, they... _Softened_. _Saddened_.

"Given the current happenings and Dumbledore's less than friendly approach towards you," he began, his voice void of emotion despite what she saw on his face, "I feel it best that I be the one to deliver this news."

Something was wrong. She knew it. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably, dread swept through her and her palms grew damp.

Was she being expelled? Suspended? Heading for Azkaban?

"Later this afternoon, the Order was alerted to a breach in the wards placed on your parent's house."

Oh God, no!

"Two off-duty Aurors were sent to investigate and when they arrived, the house was surrounded by reporters, onlookers and the muggle authorities of police and fire-fighters. A fire has destroyed the majority of the building. Once the flames were extinguished, the arson investigators initially believed it to have been an accident. The Aurors carried out an investigation of their own and have since come to the conclusion the fire was set purposely. Two bodies were discovered and removed from the wreckage and the Dark Mark was found both by the bodies and in your childhood bedroom. The muggle authorities have identified the bodies as Jean and Richard Granger."

~000~000~000~

**12 Grimmauld Place**

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her vision adjusting to the darkness only fought off by the candlelight. Her brow furrowing, she struggled to recall recent happenings and why was she in her bed at Grimmauld? She'd spent most of her summer sleeping in it, she could easily distinguish between it and her bed in her dorm without having to glance around at her surroundings.

Slowly pushing herself up and into a sitting position, she noted she was still clad in her school uniform, the sky had grown dark indicating some time had passed and she _was_ in her room at Grimmauld.

Why wasn't she at school? What'd happened?

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a dark figure in the corner, stood by the window and peering out at the street below, the moon and candlelight offering enough light for her to determine who it was.

"Professor?" She questioned.

Slowly, Snape turned to face her.

"Miss. Granger, I was concerned I would have to call for a medi-witch should you not awaken soon," he said in lieu of a greeting.

"What happened?" Her brow furrowed in confusion and annoyance. "Why are we at Grimmauld?"

His dark gaze swept over her searchingly. "You fainted."

"Fainted?" She echoed in disbelief.

"Yes, the news you received was difficult and overwhelming. You are here as this is where you will remain, under adult supervision, until arrangements have been made and you have put your parents to rest."

Parents to rest?

"I don't understand," she confessed in a whisper, her gaze falling down to her lap, her fingers twisting together.

"Miss. Granger, what do you remember?" He questioned, taking a step closer and into the candlelight, his dark clothing blending into the darkness, looking very much like a floating head, something that might have made her laugh were the circumstances different.

"I was by the Black Lake, transfiguring rocks into sticks and playing fetch with the Giant Squid. After that, nothing, it black, fuzzy."

He sighed softly and moved to sit on the chair after moving it to her bedside.

"I believe your mind is trying to protect you and not only that, you bumped your head when you fell from the chair. Temporary amnesia is understandable."

"And this news? What was it that it caused my memory loss and fainting?"

"Your parent's house suffered a fire, two bodies were removed and identified as Jean and Richard Granger."

"No," she shook her head in denial, believing him to be lying to her.

"The muggle authorities believe it to be an accident. There was a gas leak in the kitchen and your father is believed to have lit a cigarette, igniting the fire."

"No, it's not true!" She argued. "My father doesn't smoke and the oven's electric, not gas. That's impossible."

"The Aurors are in disagreement. They believe your parents were dead before the fire began and it was set to destroy possible evidence. They claim to have discovered the Dark Mark by the bodies and in your childhood bedroom."

"No, I don't believe you!" Her voice rose in panic, her chest tightening painfully, a sharp, stabbing pain shooting through her heart and her head swimming.

A memory came back to her. She'd felt this before. She'd felt it before her vision went dark.

"Miss. Granger," Snape snapped nastily, but it was just what she needed to jump-start her breathing and she gasped for air. A vial appeared before her. "Drink this," he instructed.

Her mind elsewhere and trying to debunk his previous words and prove her parents were fine, she absentmindedly took the vial from him and downed the contents, noting the taste of a Calming Draught. He took the empty vial from her and she felt her breathing slowly calm, her rapidly beating heart settle and her thought process slow. Her feelings of loss, fear, anger and disbelief were still present, only the Calming Draught made them more bearable.

"It can't be true."

"It is."

"But He promised me. He promised they wouldn't be harmed," she whispered, the back of her throat burning with the urge to cry, but she couldn't.

She'd just discovered her parents were dead, most likely murdered, and she couldn't shed a tear for them. What was wrong with her?

"This is something no child should face no matter the age, unfortunately, life does not care. The Aurors are going to further their investigation and they are going to inform us when and if more evidence is discovered. The Order's working to push the release of their bodies so funeral arrangements can be made before you return to school."

"They had plans," she muttered, her unfocused gaze locked on a spot on the wall, her legs pulling up to her chest and her arms folding around her knees, hugging them to her. "They'd already made funeral arrangements with the local funeral home. They wanted to be buried next to my Grandparents."

"One of the muggle liaisons will help with the arrangements and contact the funeral home. After the funeral, there is a matter of custody which must be discussed. Whilst you are of age in the Wizarding World, you are not in the Muggle World, and assuming your parents have a last will and testament, you must be eighteen before you will receive your inheritance. The Muggle banks are likely to require a custodian, and though the details are not yet clear, they will be before your return to Hogwarts. For now, I understand you might wish to be left alone to process this however you desire. I must return to Hogwarts and will have a house-elf send along some clothing and toiletries for your stay. You will be supervised for the entirety of your stay, and for your safety, you will be escorted to and from the funeral and you're not to leave."

"Thank you, Professor," she whispered. "I'm glad this news came from you and not Dumbledore."

"I know this is hard but try to get some rest. And I truly am sorry for your loss."

"You know, Professor, this nicer side of you's freaking me out."

"Very well. Are you not the daughter of a feared, powerful wizard?" He said, his voice growing cold and snarky. "Pull yourself together, emotions are for the weak. Slytherin himself would be rolling in his grave if he were to see you being so pitiful."

Hermione felt her mouth twitch. "Much better."

~000~000~000~

She sat on her bed, her back against the headboard, her tired eyes staring at the wall opposite, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms folded around them, her chin resting atop. She was no longer clad in her school uniform as she'd changed into tracksuit bottoms and the matching hoodie, her hair being piled atop her head in a messy knot.

She had no idea of the time, only that it was no longer dark outside. She'd done as Snape had suggested and tried to get some sleep but she hadn't been able to. She'd taken a shower at an ungodly time during the early hours of the morning, hoping the hot water and steam would help her to relax, but it hadn't.

And so, she sat on her bed, unmoving.

A knock on the door sounded and in response, Hermione simply blinked, refusing to acknowledge it. It didn't deter whoever was on the other side as they opened it anyway.

"Hey, Granger," George Weasley greeted softly, his expression free of a smile or laugh.

"We wanted to give you some space, but we grew worried," added his twin brother, his expression an identical match to his brother's.

"How're you feeling?... Ow!" George hissed, glaring at his brother, his hand pressed to the back of his head.

"Don't look at me like that," Fred warned. "You deserved it, you idiot! What're you thinking asking her a question like that? How d'you think she's feeling?"

"Sorry," George apologised, looking chastised. "We just wanted to see if you wanted something to eat."

She remained silent and they shared a worried glance.

"It's just that, Snape told us you didn't have dinner and we know you haven't had breakfast, and you didn't come down for lunch, either. That's three missed meals. After everything that you've been through, you really shouldn't be skipping meals," said Fred, trying to sound authoritative without being pushy or judgemental.

"Yeah, and it's our job to watch out for you, we really don't want you fainting from hunger. This week's going to be hard enough without having to bring the medi-witches in to medicate you," continued George. "And we like you better when you're sane and not high on pain meds, you freaked the hell out of us over the summer," he joked, once more receiving no reply from her.

She was an unmoving statue, barely blinking, barely breathing.

Sighing, he strode across the room and reached out, his hands settling on her shoulders and shaking her lightly. She blinked, her eyes been drawn to him as he bent over at the waist, putting him at eye level. Her eyes focused on his and her brow furrowed.

"George?" She questioned quietly, her voice confused and timid.

"I'm Fred," he said automatically.

"The handsome twin?"

Fred laughed and George scowled at her.

"Yes, yes I am," Fred agreed, also crossing over to the bed and unceremoniously taking a seat beside her. "And this is why you're my favourite. Anyway, now that you've hurt Georgie's feelings, are you hungry?"

"No."

George drew back and stood to full height, his arms folding over his chest and his brow furrowing.

"I didn't want to have to do this... Fred, hold her down, we'll force-feed her."

"I feel sick," she replied, her eyes once more locked on the wall.

"Because you're hungry," he agreed. "You've missed three meals, you need to eat."

"I don't want to."

"Tough, you'll feel better."

"My parents are dead, possibly murdered, it's not going to make me feel better."

George winced at her response. It wasn't spoken with malice, it wasn't shouted and it wasn't whispered. She'd said it evenly, carelessly, void of emotion. That was more worrying than he'd like to admit. Hermione was a witch that felt deeply and for her to have shut down emotionally was frightening.

"But you need to eat," Fred picked up, seeing his brother's hesitation to respond. "We cooked for you. Be grateful, we've never done that for anyone else."

"I didn't know you could cook."

"It's a secret, so don't be blabbing. We convinced mum we're awful in the kitchen so we're not dragged into helping."

"Smart," she muttered. "But I've seen what you're capable of in a potions lab, and it's quite similar to cooking, so I suppose it shouldn't be so surprising."

"Well, no one else has tried our cooking before, so we could really use a second opinion," he needled. "What d'you say, help a wizard out? You're opinion matters the most to us, you know that."

She shrugged in response and given that she hadn't specifically declined, George gave Fred a nod in acknowledgement before making a quick trip to the kitchen, returning with a tray containing a plate, knife and fork and a glass of water.

Fred reached out and pried Hermione's arms away from her legs until they fell to the mattress and whilst she scowled at him, George quickly set the tray in her lap before sitting on her other side, wedging her in-between them.

"Really?" She griped in annoyance. Neither of them cared, it was the first sign of emotion from her.

"Give it a try. We haven't perfected the recipe yet, it's missing something; we're hoping you can tell us what it is. If you don't, we'll tell everyone that _you're_ the reason the skiving snackboxes exist. Without you, we'd have just scrapped the idea."

Pursing her lips, she turned her eyes to the tray on her lap, silently admitting that it did smell good and as she reached for her knife and fork, she deliberately ignored Fred and George sharing a high-five behind her back. After cutting off a small section of the chicken breast and bringing it to her mouth, she chewed slowly and thoughtfully as the flavours burst across her tongue, her taste buds having a party. But she knew better than to compliment the twins in such a way. They'd never get their heads through the door and she'd never hear the end of it.

"It's good," she nodded.

"We know, but what's it missing?" Fred pressed.

"You're so modest," she snarked.

"Look at me, I'm practically a God," he argued.

She rolled her eyes. "What've you used for the spices? Rosemary, garlic?"

"And thyme, salt and pepper," George added.

"Then I know what's missing."

"And that is?"

"Lemon."

"Lemon?" They chorused, their heads tipped to the side.

"Lemon," she confirmed.

"That might work," Fred nodded slowly. "I'll be right back."

He stood from the bed, headed down to the kitchen and returned with a lemon and cheese grater. Taking it from him, Hermione cut it in half with her knife, squeeze the lemon juice over the chicken and then added some lemon zest. On her second taste test, she nodded to herself.

"I think that's it," she remarked.

"Really?" Asked Fred hopefully.

"Try for yourself," she shrugged, cutting off a small section before handing him the fork.

He took it and chewed slowly, his mouth pulling into a smile. "And she's done it again, Georgie," cried Fred.

George arched an eyebrow and accepted the fork from Hermione after she speared it with a piece of chicken, putting it into his mouth and sighing.

"D'you know how infuriatingly clever you are?" Said George, handing the fork back to her, being pleased when she continued eating the dish without further delay, complaint or encouragement. "We've been trying to work out the missing ingredients for weeks."

"Well, to be honest, I've had this before."

"What?" They blurted out with frowns.

"Sorry to say, you've accidentally and unknowingly recreated a dish known as lemon chicken. That's how I knew what was missing."

"Bloody hell," Fred complained.

Before they knew it, Hermione had eaten all of her food and after her glass of water had been set aside on the bedside table, the tray and dirty dishes were banished to the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?" She asked them, folding her legs and her hands slipping into the pouch-pocket of her hoodie. "Obviously, I assume you're here to keep an eye on me, as Snape said I'd have a chaperone even if I am of age. But there's plenty of people that could've been assigned. Why _you_? "

"We volunteered," George shrugged, his shoulder brushing hers given he was sat so close.

"Why?" Her brow furrowed. "You've a business to run, you should be there, not here watching over me, making sure I don't do something stupid or try to escape."

"By this point, the shop pretty much runs itself and we've got staff we trust to keep an eye on the place for a few days," answered Fred. "And we thought you might prefer us over mum or a stuffy, nameless Auror. You're going through something no one wants to and thought it would be best you see a friendly face."

"How're you feeling?"

"Really, George?" Fred said exasperatedly, debating whether or not to reach around Hermione and smack him upside the head again.

"What? I want to know," George argued.

"I don't know," Hermione confessed quietly, her head lowering and her eyes locking on the crinkled blanket. "I feel... numb. I feel angry, lost, devastated, broken, but I feel numb. I've tried to sleep but I couldn't. I've tried to cry and let it out, to not bottle it up, but I can't. It's almost as if it hasn't happened. Part of me's still hoping they've misidentified the bodies and that I'll go home for Christmas and they'll be by the tree with a hot chocolate and a hug waiting for me."

"Denial's common," said Fred. "And everyone grieves differently. You might not cry now because you're too overwhelmed. You might cry and struggle to stop. You might not cry at all. Either way, it's whatever helps you the most that matters. But now that we're happy you've eaten, we'll leave you alone."

When Fred and George both stood from the bed and made to take their leave, her hands shot out, wrapping around their wrists without even realising she'd done it. She blinked in surprise before looking to each of them in turn, seeing their matching questioning gazes.

"Will you stay? I don't want to be alone."

Barely sparing the other a glance, they both nodded and moved to sit beside her, wedging her between them once more.

~000~000~000~

**Muggle London**

Hermione stared at the polished black caskets, both sealed shut in order to hide the burnt, marred bodies that lay inside.

Fred and George stood tall on either side of her and the other attendants surrounded the two caskets that were waiting to be lowered into the ground and buried six feet under.

It was a cold day but the weather was otherwise fine despite there being a chance of rain later in the day. And that would just be the icing on the cake. In movies, it always rained during a funeral, didn't it? That seemed to be the only thing missing.

The vicar conducting the service in the freezing, smelly church? Check. The grieving daughter? Check. The friends of the family, acquaintances and patients from her parent's practice all sporting black? Check. The Aurors sneakily patrolling the perimeter in case of a Death Eater attack? Check. Everyone gathered outdoors on the cold, dreary day? Check.

The service had been simple just as her parent's had wished and when she'd gotten up before the attendants to say a few words about her parents, she hadn't been able to do it, staring out at the faces with her voice refusing to work. In typical Fred and George fashion, they'd come to her rescue and read the speech she'd spent days agonising over aloud, over embellishing and being dramatic as expected, drawing laughs from the crowd at the funnier parts and memories, and sniffles during the sadder, more upsetting parts.

And now, as the vicar gave his final speech before the caskets were lowered into the pre-purchased spots beside her Grandparents, it was silent.

Hermione couldn't cry. There was something holding her back. It had only been five days since she'd learned the news, and in those days, she didn't cry, she barely slept and she only ate because the twins were creative in their ways of convincing her. They left her alone during the morning and for most of the afternoon before they made an appearance, taking up seats on either side of her on the bed. Sometimes they drew her into random conversations, other times they sat in silence. But they didn't push her, force her to react or feel, they let her do as she wished. And she appreciated that. They were getting her through this, she wouldn't be standing by the caskets on her own.

Stepping forward, being mindful that her heels didn't get caught in the damp mud, Hermione placed a red rose on first her mother's casket and then her father's. Stepping back into place, Fred and George mirrored her actions and once they returned to her side, they silently slipped their larger hands around hers, offering a squeeze of support. She was grateful for it. She hadn't spoken a word all day and they hadn't pressured her, they'd simply sat beside her during the service and held her hand.

As the attendants began to take their leave, Hermione said her final goodbye to her parents, thanking them for giving her such a wonderful, loving home and for loving her as their own even if she wasn't.

The twins gently ushered her towards the black car that was waiting to take them to the wake, bringing them one step closer to the day being over. With the house being damaged beyond repair, the wake was being held at the local pub, a place her father often visited and he'd bring her along to watch the football. Even if she disliked the sport, she loved spending time with him as she often didn't get the chance with him being at work all the time.

Being the first to arrive, she was expected to wait by the entrance and greet everyone that made an appearance. She couldn't do it. When the crowd started arriving, she'd have people taking her hand in theirs or pulling her into a hug whilst they offered their condolences and shared a kind word or a memory or two about her parents. It was the twins that responded, thanking them for their kind words and wishing that they enjoy the buffet that had been prepared.

Hours passed with Hermione sat in the corner, the twins on either side of her, refusing to leave her alone, both as her support system and for her safety. They weren't just there to support her, they were there as her bodyguards.

"How long until this is over?" Hermione asked quietly, her voice being drowned out by the loud, drunken laughter in the pub.

The twins looked down at her, almost surprised to hear her voice as it was the first thing she'd said all day. She sat slumped in her chair, one arm folded around her stomach protectively and the other stretched out, her hand playing with a beer mat. The twins had both ordered a lager when they first stepped into the pub and they'd barely sipped from it, the pints still sat untouched on the table and had long since gone flat. They'd only done so for appearance sakes. Hermione, being underage, had opted for lemonade, which had also gone untouched.

"Shouldn't be too much longer, a few have already left," answered Fred.

"Your parents were well-liked," George observed.

Hermione shrugged. "They were community people, always involved in fundraising events for the school and church despite not being religious. They'd been dentists for so long they treated patients as kids and then they grew up and their kids became their patients. They donated to charity and volunteered once a month at the soup kitchen for the homeless, it was one of the few times we spent together."

She tiredly leaned her head to the side, resting against Fred's shoulder. He didn't blame her, he knew she hadn't been sleeping, he'd say she managed no more than two hours a night, if she slept at all.

"You're allowed to leave whenever you want," George told her. "You don't owe anything to anyone. It looks like most of these are just taking the opportunity to get pissed in the middle of the week."

"I don't know why, it's not as if it's a free bar," she grumbled with her eyes closed.

Fred, sharing a glance with his twin over the top of Hermione's head, nodded in agreement.

"Let's go, you've done everything expected of you and now it's time for you to have some peace and quiet."

Not giving her the chance to argue, George pulled her to her feet, through the throng of drinkers and out of the pub without anyone noticing, meaning she wouldn't be caught up in saying her goodbyes. After finding an alleyway, he withdrew the pre-made port-key from his coat pocket and it whisked them away to Grimmauld.

~000~000~000~

**12 Grimmauld Place**

When they landed, they had to reach out and steady Hermione as she'd almost fallen flat on her face when she lost her balance because of her heels. They then guided her towards the front door and stepped inside, both the _Fidelius_ and protective wards allowing them access.

"You haven't eaten all day, what do you want for dinner?" Said George before the door had a chance to close behind them.

"I'm not hungry," Hermione replied.

He rolled his eyes. "'Course you are," he disagreed. "We've been working on this idea, instead of a Sunday dinner, why not take the best parts and eat them together? It's quicker _and_ delicious."

"Yeah," Fred nodded. "Like the sausages from bangers and mash, gravy and the Yorkshire puddings from a dinner."

"That's a muggle dish."

"What?" His face fell.

"Sausages inside Yorkshire puddings, also known as, toad in the hole."

"Give me a break," he grumbled.

"Back to the drawing board, I suppose," George scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Anyway, you head upstairs and try and get some rest. We'll call you when dinner's done."

"I'm not hungry," she repeated.

"Liar," he retorted, turning on his heel and heading for the kitchen, refusing to argue with her further.

"Don't go far," Fred told her, also walking off.

"That's not funny," she grumbled, knowing fine well she was under house arrest. She was only allowed to leave for the funeral and to attend a meeting with the solicitor, something that had yet to be confirmed.

She slowly made her way to her room, the sound of her heels against the floor echoing in the silence. Stepping inside and closing the door behind her, she made to remove her pea coat but paused when she spotted the green and silver-tipped rose that sat on her pillow.

Approaching the bed and reaching out to grasp the thornless stem, she felt a familiar tug in her navel. She should've known better.

~000~000~000~

**Malfoy Manor**

She stumbled on her landing, almost snapping her ankle and tumbling to the ground before she managed to steady herself on the wall behind her.

"Graceful, as always."

Hermione pursed her lips before pushing away from the wall, standing tall and straight and lifting her head, seeing her father sat at his desk, a quill in hand and poised above the parchment.

"I'm wearing heels," she said in defence. "I was caught off guard, my mind's been otherwise preoccupied."

"So it has," he agreed, "And how has your day faired."

"Rubbish," she responded. "I've just buried my parents, how do you think it's been?" She said waspishly.

The change in his mood was subtle but instantaneous. He set his quill aside and rose to his feet, stepping from behind his desk and crossing to her, staring down at her with blood-red eyes and his thin lips set in a straight line. He wasn't pleased with her, not in the slightest.

"Is there something you wish to say?" He challenged.

"Is it true?" She blurted out.

"Should you desire an answer, you must be more specific," he drawled.

Her nose flared and she clenched her hands into fists before folding her arms over her chest, preventing her from drawing her wand. Father or not, he wouldn't hesitate to punish her should she hold him at wand point, regardless of the fact he was far more powerful than she and she didn't stand a chance against him.

"My parents, was it you? You promised me no harm would come to them. The Aurors reported the Dark Mark, _your_ mark, being found by the bodies and in my bedroom, no doubt meant as a message for me."

"No, it was not me," he replied evenly. If he was angered by her accusation, he didn't show it. "I have had spies observing your parents and their house closely for some time. I received a report of suspicious behaviour from persons who were later identified as Dumbledore supporters. Believing the old fool to be concocting an elaborate plan with an unknown goal, I had my spies strike first."

"What?" She felt her mouth go dry, hope flutter in her stomach and her folded arms dropped.

"When your parent's returned from their shopping trip to the local supermarket, I had my men approach them and without delay, your parents were removed from the house and taken to a safe destination until later a time they could be moved."

"They're alive?" She whispered.

"They are alive and well," he confirmed.

Hermione's body visibly sagged with relief and without conscious thought or warning, she sprang forward, her arms folding around him and her face burying in his robes. She felt his tall frame stiffen to the point he could be mistaken for a statue but she didn't care if he was uncomfortable or irritated by her behaviour or her show of emotions, she was too happy with the news that her parents were alive. She fought back the tears and the sob that threatened to break free, not wishing to breakdown in his presence.

"The bodies?" She questioned, refusing to release her hold on him.

"Stolen from a morgue. They were already dead before the fire was set. I might not be aware of Dumbledore's intentions but it is likely he was planning on having your parents killed and putting fault on me, in a last attempt to prevent you from seeking me out. That would explain the presence of the Dark Mark. Little does he know, he is already too late."

"He threatened the lives of my family. One day, he's going to pay," she promised.

"And that day will come soon," he replied confidently, Hermione being surprised when she felt his frame shift as he slowly, reluctantly settled his arms around her. It was obvious he was uncomfortable but she appreciated the gesture.

He was trying, she told herself. He didn't believe in love, thought it to be weak and powerless and that's something they disagreed on. But since discovering she was his daughter, he was taking small steps to include her in his life, and whether he realised it or not, he was already showing a change in behaviour.

The warnings he'd given that no harm should come to her, the lessons in magic and spell crafting, the long conversations by the fireplace in his office, the roses he'd specially charmed for her and he sent her one a week, the vase in her bedroom slowly filling up and her birthday present of her favourite wizarding candy, a beautiful phoenix feather quill and a new book to help her studies with spell creation. He'd gone above and beyond, faking her parent's deaths to protect them for her sake and now, he was returning the hug she'd forced upon him.

She should be afraid, he was hardly human in appearance and his previous transgressions were well known; torture, murder, blackmail, kidnapping, theft... But he was her father.

"When can I see them?"

"Never."

Her eyes flew open and she drew back from him, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"What?" She swallowed. "Why?"

"Should you visit your parents, you will put both them and yourself at risk. In order to prevent this from happening again, your parent's memories were taken, leaving no knowledge of you or the existence of magic. They have been given new identities and relocated out of Europe and to Australia."

"They don't know who I am?" She whispered in horror.

"No, they do not. It is what is best for their safety and yours. You asked that I protect them and I have. They are no longer targets and they are free to live the remainder of their lives without fear and without concern for you."

"But I never got a chance to say goodbye," her eyes lowered. She felt tears spring forth but pushed them back once more.

She'd never truly believed they were dead, not in her heart. Perhaps that was why she wasn't able to cry over the last few days, because deep down she knew. But learning that they were alive and safe in another continent, living happily and without the knowledge of the daughter they'd raised since a baby... That was felt worse than them being dead. Death was final, she knew they were at rest, she knew they were safe from harm, she knew they'd loved her to their last breath. But this... There was always a chance they might one day see each other again and they wouldn't know who she was, there was always a chance they'd be discovered and harmed.

"Perhaps that is for the best. And now, it is just you and I."

"I suppose it is," she whispered. "Why are you only telling me this now? Did Snape know? It's been five days."

"Your grieving had to be indisputable, not only for the muggles but for Dumbledore."

"But with the 'death' of my parents, Dumbledore's going to be watching me closely. I might be of age here, but in the Muggle World, I'm not. He's going to want to know my plans for the school holidays, Christmas is coming soon. He won't allow me to leave without permission."

"That is already taken care of," he assured her. "Snape was able to persuade Dumbledore that he be the only suitable custodian for the time being. Being under Snape's watchful eye, Dumbledore will believe you to be spending the holidays with him, when in fact, you will be with me."

"That works," she nodded slowly in agreement, doing her best to push aside the topic of her parents until she was alone. "Dumbledore believes him to be his loyal spy, and from what Snape's told me in passing, he is greatly trusted. Dumbledore will trust that Snape is keeping me under lock and key. I'm to assume he'll be attending the meeting with my parent's solicitor."

"Yes, Dumbledore would not allow it otherwise."

"By law, I'm entitled to my inheritance and a meeting with my solicitor, but we already know of Dumbledore's disregard for the rules and bending them to suit his own purpose."

"What of the news I hear regarding your injuries?"

Hermione blinked slowly at the sudden change in topic before sighing, cursing Snape beneath her breath. Of course, he'd tell her father.

"It seems you already know," she shrugged one shoulder as her eyes lowered to the ground.

"I would like to hear it from you," he responded, but the order was clear.

"It seems that despite the warnings that were distributed, many of Slytherin house have chosen to ignore them regardless of the consequences. I don't know if they're stupid or brave, perhaps stupidly brave," she mused. "I was expecting the occasional shove in the corridors and whispered insults in class, but I never thought they'd be stupid enough to physically attack, especially when my back is turned."

She saw his eyes flash dangerously.

"The first time I was unprepared and did receive minor injuries of scraped knees and palms, but I've since learned my lesson and I always have a Shielding Charm ready."

"Only defensive magic?" He questioned, arching a non-existent eyebrow.

"Yes, I'd rather not risk using offensive magic and have them use it against me. There is nothing to stop them from going to Dumbledore and making accusations of an unprovoked attack. And whilst you might have influence over the board of governors that will prevent me from being expelled or suspended, there is nothing preventing Dumbledore from issuing punishment. He's already gotten to the majority of the teaching staff and I'm forced to work harder than my peers to achieve my grades. Only Snape and Slughorn remain unaffected. As for who is responsible for the attacks, I don't know. They usually target me when there are crowds or when I'm alone in the corridors. I've only seen the red or green of their robes, Slytherins and Gryffindors. Hufflepuffs are too afraid of me and Ravenclaws know better than to get involved. I feel the standards of our house have severely diminished over the years, Salazar would be rolling in his grave."

"Oh?" He questioned amusedly.

"Slytherins are known for being cunning and resourceful, there is nothing cunning about hiding in the shadows and attacking when one's back is turned. A true Slytherin would quietly observe, bide their time and strike when least expected."

His thin lips twitched into a smile. "You are planning revenge," he stated knowingly.

"Yes, I am," she admitted. "And it must be done without alerting suspicion. I'm not entirely certain who is involved but I have my suspicions, and once I confirm them, my targets will be chosen and I'll be sure they all known their mistake in targeting me and going against orders. And, of course, I'll be aiming for maximum damage."

"And Dumbledore?"

"I'm not aiming to physically harm them," she shrugged. "We're dealing with pompously raised Purebloods, those that believe they're better than everyone else no matter the wealth or status. And what's the most valuable asset for a Pureblood? More specifically, a teenager?" She asked, seeing him tip his head slightly. "Reputation," she offered. "Particularly, the females."

His mouth pulled into the biggest smile she'd yet to see from him, and it was a little frightening, she admitted to herself.

"Social punishment," he remarked.

"Yes. Physical punishment can be easily forgotten, but humiliation, that's sticks with a person. And should I ruin their reputations beyond repair, they'll never recover. But I've yet to decide how far I wish to take this, I'm still observing and planning. If they settle down and stop attacking me, I'll be merciful."

"I know what you did to Umbridge; that was not merciful."

"She deserved it," she shrugged unapologetically.

His eyes moved to the ornate clock that sat above the fireplace before he looked down at her once more.

"Some time has passed since your arrival and you must return before you are discovered missing."

"Before I do, there's something I want to ask you," she said, and he must've sensed her nervousness with the topic as he observed her closely. "Fred and George Weasley," she began, pausing for a moment so she might better gather her words.

"The blood traitors?"

Her lips pursed and her brow furrowed as she glanced up at him unhappily. "Don't call them that," she chided. "Just because they don't care for the current politics doesn't make them blood traitors. They might not hate Muggleborns, but they do still uphold their Pureblood traditions, and they are still Pureblood," she pointed out. "Anyway, I admit, the majority of the Weasleys are... Well, you understand... But they're not like the others."

"Is there a point you wish to make? We are limited on time."

"Yes, well," she cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I would like to ask that whatever the outcome, you give them immunity."

"Excuse me?" Both of his non-existent eyebrows rose high on his forehead. It was almost comical.

"Fred and George, I would like for you to give them immunity. As I said before, they're not like the rest of their family. You know they saved my life after the attack and they offered me treatment for my bruises. They volunteered to be my chaperones this week so they might watch over me and ensure my safety."

"You care for them," he stated. His expression gave nothing away.

"I do, very much," she admitted. "Ron, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, I couldn't give a toss what happens to them after the way they've treated me, and Percy, Charlie and Bill I've had but a handful of interactions. The twins are different."

"Show me," he instructed.

She sighed. "It gives me a headache," she grumbled.

"Then do not fight me," he replied. "Do as I have told you before, bring forth the memories."

Taking a moment to centre both her magic and her mind, she looked him dead in the eye and nodded in consent, immediately feeling a presence. When her head pounded painfully as he began searching through her memories, she did her best to focus on Fred and George, bring memories of their interactions to the front of her mind for her father to witness.

The first memory showed one of their first interactions during her first year. They'd found her sniffling in an abandoned classroom (before the troll incident) and after trying to unsuccessfully flee in embarrassment; they sat her down, took the time to speak with her and promised her that things would get better.

Another memory came forth, this one from her second year. There was no visual, only audio recall as the twins snuck into the hospital wing and told stories of their greatest pranks, keeping her company during her petrifaction. The next memory came from her third year; the twins had found her crying in the Astronomy Tower after the majority of Gryffindor had shunned her for her turning in Harry's Firebolt to McGonagall. And despite their own annoyance with her, they'd sat with her and made her laugh until she felt better, promising her that it would all blow over.

Fourth year, the memory came from the Yule Ball and after Viktor had excused himself to use the bathroom, Fred and George each took her for a spin around the dance floor before keeping her company until he returned. She offered memories of their interactions during her fifth year, some from their time in the D.A when they partnered together and duelled, and others when she'd secretly helped them develop their products after getting annoyed with them constantly following her around and begging for her to lend her brain.

And then she showed the memories of their interactions over the summer, namely them defending her against Harry and Ron, before they jumped to the happenings of the previous week, showing how they encouraged her to eat and sleep, how they sat with her, took care of her and how they supported her during the funeral and the wake.

She winced when he drew back from her mind unexpectedly, her eyes closed tightly and her hands coming up to press against her temples. She felt sick.

When she dared to open her eyes, she noted his thoughtful expression staring down at her.

"They have always been kind to me, no matter of the fact it was unknown to others. Until recently, I hadn't realised it myself. They were always there when I needed help, as you just witnessed. They were kind to me when no one else was. They looked out for me when no one else did."

"They care for you," he observed as his forehead crinkled. "They have shown loyalty to you over their siblings, when no one else has."

"I... I suppose they have," she agreed, trying not to shift under his penetrating gaze. "I would like to return the sentiment and ensure they are not harmed. At the very least, I owe them for all that they've done for me, and I owe them my life."

His eyes searched her expression for a moment longer, silence falling around them.

"Very well, I will ensure their protection and _only_ them, as repayment for ensuring your safety."

"Thank you," she sighed in relief, and for the second time that evening, she wrapped herself around him and hugged him tightly. He stiffened as expected before hesitantly slotting his arms around her, his movements stiff but appreciated.

"I might have given them a pardon and protection, but you do not have my permission to marry them."

"Really?" She grumbled, rolling her eyes. "We made an agreement. I am allowed to choose my own husband, I have until the age of twenty-one to get married and you wouldn't interfere so long as I followed the rules set."

"You may choose your own spouse but I must approve the nuptials, and he must be a Pureblood."

"I care for the twins, Father, but I can't see myself marrying them. For all the interactions you witnessed, there were just as many arguments and threats shared that you did not. Being raised so closely with them has made it awkward for any relationship to form. And they'd annoy me one too many times with their pranks resulting in possible injury."

"I am glad we are in agreement."

"Besides, I've no intention of marrying yet and no one is interested given my believed Muggleborn status. Once my identity is revealed, I imagine half of the male population would be too afraid to approach me and the other half would be lined around the corner, hoping to use me to gain favour with you. And that is why I wish to choose my own partner. I don't care for wealth or alliances, I want my partner to have a head on his shoulders. If he's as dumb as a box of rocks, I'd lose my mind."

"You seek intelligence," he commented.

"And kindness. I want to be secure in knowing that he will not harm me not because he's afraid of what you might do to him, but because he is kind. And I know that don't care for such qualities, but kindness and compassion can have a great influence on many people. Fear and power is not always needed, as I know you disagree. But for now, we'll have to pause this conversation because I don't want to worry the twins with my disappearance."

She drew back from him and as she made to use the floo network to travel to the Leaky Cauldron where she'd then apparate to Grimmauld, she paused, staring up at him silently.

"Yes?" He questioned.

"Something's different."

Her brow furrowed in confusion and she slowly reached up, her fingertips pressing against his cheek. He tried to move back from her but she simply followed.

"Your skin... It's not as... _waxy_. And it feels warmer." She drew her hand back, her eyes examining him carefully. "And your cheekbones are more pronounced." When her eyes locked with his, they widened slightly. "Your eyes, I can see flecks of brown. They're not solely red."

He silently conjured a handheld mirror before glancing at his reflection, his eyes darting between her and the mirror.

"That is odd," he remarked, also seeing the changes she spoke of. They were subtle but the longer he stared, the more noticeable they became. "Most odd, indeed."

~000~000~000~

**12 Grimmauld Place**

"Oh, thank Merlin!"

"Where the bloody hell have you been?!"

Hermione blinked slowly in surprise before closing the door behind her. Fred and George stood in the entrance hall, their expressions marred with relief, concern and anger as they stared at her.

"We told you not to leave," said George.

"Well, I don't do well with being told what to do," she responded, "Something I know you relate to. And regardless of Dumbledore's orders, I'm legally of age, he has no control over me. Should I wish to take a walk and have some time to process the burial of my parents, then I will take it and nothing will stop me, not you and certainly not holier-than-thou Dumbledore."

She pushed her way past them, using her smaller frame to her advantage as she stormed up the stairs and to her bedroom, slamming the door shut childishly. After removing her coat and heels, she fell onto her bed, her face burying in her pillow as she clutched it to her and for the first time, she cried.

She cried and she didn't stop.

An hour later there was a knock on the door and refusing to answer as her tears silently fell, it opened anyway, as she'd expected. She should've warded it.

"Granger, we're sorry," Fred apologised. "We were just worried about you."

"You disappeared without a word and there's people out there that want your head on a pyre," George continued.

Hermione felt the mattress dip on both sides of her, the twins' weight being added to her bed.

"We know it's been a difficult few days and today was the worst, of course, you've a right to some time alone should you wish it. We just wish you'd have told us first."

She felt a warm hand settle on her shoulder and a second followed it, resting between her shoulder blades. It was their way of silently offering comfort.

"If you want us to leave you alone, just say so."

She remained quiet and she kept her face hidden.

They didn't leave until after she'd cried herself to sleep.

~000~000~000~

The days passed slowly during her stay at Grimmauld. She remained hidden in her room and barely left, if only to use the bathroom and quickly shower. She only ate because the twins brought her meals to her and encouraged her to do so. She spent most of her time doing one of two things, sleeping or crying.

Her eyes seemed to be permanently red and swollen, her nose always sniffly and dripping with snot, her throat sore from her cries and her lips chapped and dry. She was crying for the loss of her parents. For the loss of their memories. For the loss of their love. When she'd known they were dead, she'd known they'd love her. Now that she knew they were alive, she knew they had no idea who she was and they knew nothing of their love for her. And her heart broke with the knowledge.

She was grateful they were alive and safe, that they were able to live freely and without fear, but a part of her wished they were dead. She'd lost her parents forever and because she knew they were well, that made it all the more heartbreaking.

"Granger," George began softly. "Snape's here. You've your appointment with the solicitor in half an hour."

"And we know you wouldn't want him seeing you like this, so we had him wait in the kitchen. You've not got long to get ready," added Fred.

Hermione reluctantly pushed herself up from her stomach and to a sitting position, turning to face the twins. She could count on one hand the number of people she felt comfortable being vulnerable with, and the twins were two of them, her parents being the others.

"I'm a lost cause," she sniffled, wiping the falling tears from her swollen eyes.

"Nonsense," George argued, "You look stunning."

"Yeah," Fred agreed, nodding, "No one pulls off the snotty, bloodshot eyes look quite like you. You'll have the muggles falling at your feet."

"Don't be ridiculous," she huffed but her mouth did twitch.

"And to keep them away from her, we best work our magic and made her less presentable," George continued. "Let's get to work," he clapped his hands excitedly. Crossing to the bed, he took Hermione's hands in his before pulling her to her feet, scrutinizing her carefully before nodding to himself. "I have just the thing," he declared. He reached into his pocket and withdrew with a violet-coloured potion. "Drink this," he instructed.

"What is it?" She eyed it warily.

"Drink it and find out," Fred shrugged, coming up beside his twin.

Against her better judgement, she did take it from him, removed the stopper and downed the potion, noting the fruity taste. That was certainly different.

"Damn," Fred sighed, reaching up to push his hair back from his eyes. "It didn't work, Georgie."

"It would seem she's no match for our product."

"What was it?"

"Beautification Potion," George answered. "But it didn't work, you look exactly the same."

"Obviously, she's stunning enough and doesn't need the help," Fred shrugged.

"Apparently so," George agreed.

"Shut up," Hermione grumbled, feeling her cheeks heating up and she crossed over to the vanity table, taking a glance in the mirror.

All visible signs of her previous nonstop crying breakdown were gone. Her eyes no longer looked red or swollen, her nose was no longer sore and sniffly and her cheeks were no longer marked with tearstains. She looked like her previous, normal self.

"We'll leave you to get dressed but I'd hurry if I were you. Snape'll lose his patience soon, he didn't look too pleased when we told him you weren't ready," said Fred.

"But if you need us, we'll be in the kitchen preparing dinner. We've a new dish we want you to try," George added before they both took their leave.

~000~000~000~

"How're you feeling?"

"Like shit," Hermione muttered.

"Language, Miss. Granger," George scolded, looking scandalised.

"And how'd the meeting go?"

"Shitter." She collapsed onto the hideous armchair in the living room, kicked her heels off her aching feet and pulled them up, swinging them over the armrest, twisting until her back pressed against the opposite one.

"Blasphemy!" George gasped in outrage.

"Bite me," she hissed.

His eyes flashed and his mouth twitched into a smirk. "Anywhere in particular, Love?"

She rolled her eyes and reached up, removing the clip from her hair until her curls tumbled down her back and over her shoulders, rolling her neck from one side to the other before she sighed in relief, finding relief from the ache.

"It's been a shitty week," she marked.

"My Goodness, three times in five minutes," George tsk'ed. "That's more than I've heard from you all year."

"And why'd the meeting go so terrible?" Fred asked, shooting his twin an amused glance.

"Too much paperwork involved and too many people sticking their noses in where they don't belong. It's all sorted now, though. I'm just pissed it had to take so bloody long. I don't know what the problem was; I had all my identification and documentation, proof of death and the last will and testament. Not that it matters now. Now that's it all over with, I just want things to go back to normal. I don't want to feel shitty anymore. I'm tired of it," she grumbled. "Anyway, I'm going to grab a quick shower before getting changed."

~000~000~000~

"Bloody hell!" Hermione hissed, almost losing her footing and tumbling to the ground.

She saw Fred's and George's eyes widen at the snake-like sound that unintentionally slipped free. They were comfortably perched on the foot of her bed and stepping into her room, clad in only a towel which she gripped tightly, she hadn't been expecting them to be there.

"What're you doing here?"

"We wanted to talk to you about something," George replied, not hiding the fact his eyes swept over her towel-clad frame, it barely protecting her modesty as water droplets ran down her skin and her hair was clipped into place atop her head as she hadn't wished to get it wet.

"Surely it can wait, I'm clearly not prepared for company," she pointed out.

"We don't mind," George shrugged, unashamed. She pursed her lips. "What?" He asked innocently.

"We need to confess something to you," said Fred.

"And it can't wait until I'm dressed?"

"No," George answered without hesitation.

"We know who you are," Fred blurted out.

"You've lost me," Hermione replied, puzzled by his statement.

"You don't have to hide it from us. We know who you are. We have for a while, if we're being honest. But we felt now was the time to tell you."

"I still have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hermione," he began, instantly grabbing her attention. It was the first time he'd used her given name. "We _know_."

"Know?" She prompted slowly.

"Bloody hell, witch," George rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. "You want us to spell it out for you? Three words. _Heir of Slytherin_."

"Okay?" She drew out the word slowly.

"We know you're the Heir of Slytherin. You're Voldemort's daughter."

Hermione blinked slowly, dumbly, before laughter bubbled from her.

"Don't be ridiculous," she sniggered.

Their expressions remained perfectly serious. They weren't buying her attempt of brushing it off as a joke.

"We know," George said firmly. "You see, we weren't blind to our mother's sudden change in attitude, and the other's soon followed, no doubt from her influence, they've always been like sheep, so easily led, but not us."

"And then Dumbledore started bringing you up in Order meetings," Fred took over, "Being careful to never outright say anything incriminating but it was clear he was planting the seed of doubt regarding your character and loyalty. And we thought to ourselves, why is Dumbledore suddenly hating on you? So you know what we did? We went digging."

"We knew you spent a lot of time in the Black library and we assumed Dumbledore believed you'd been spending too much time around the risqué books and you'd been drawn in by the power. So, of course, we went snooping, didn't we, Freddie?"

"We sure did," Fred nodded.

"We looked through each book that had evidently been touched given the lack of dust compared to the other books on the shelves. Most of them were rudimentary spell casting and wardings, but there was one book that we found that was out of place. A Hogwarts' yearbook from 1945. And after peeking inside, imagine our surprise when we came across a photo of the head boy, Tom Riddle."

"And imagine our surprise when we saw the startling similarities between him and you," finished Fred. "I've gotta say, your father was a good looking bloke, and he has _not_ aged well."

"Of course, this was all just a coincidence until we were able to pin Kreacher down long enough to speak to us, the little elf knows more than anyone realises, he's a goldmine of info. And with what he told us, we deduced that Tom Riddle _is_ Voldemort. And that is why Dumbledore hates you."

She felt panic bubbling in her chest and a brief thought entered her mind to summon her wand and escape, but not only were the twins remarkable duellists, but she also didn't believe she had it in her to raise her wand to them, no matter the outcome.

"We've done it, Freddie, we've finally stumped her speechless," George smirked.

"But we're not through yet," Fred added. "We don't care."

"What?" She blurted out.

"We don't care who your father is," he repeated, shrugging his shoulders. "The sins of a father shouldn't be blamed on the child. It's not your fault he's your father, it's the luck of the draw. In another lifetime, it might've been me and George. So, what we want to know is, did you know? When did you find out? And what's the deal with your parents?"

Her eyes swept about her surroundings.

George snorted. "You wanna make a break for it wearing only a towel?" He arched an eyebrow. "Go for it, I'd love to chase after you with your arse barely being covered," he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and Fred smacked him upside the head in warning.

"We're not going to tell anyone," Fred promised. "Dumbledore doesn't know that we know. You want us to take a wand oath? George?"

"Let's do it," his twin nodded in agreement, drawing his wand. "I, George Fabian Weasley,"

"And I, Fred Gideon Weasley,"

"...Swear upon my magic to never reveal the secrets of Hermione Granger to another being, creature or spirit," they chorused together, a band of magic slotting around their wrists.

"Why did you do that?" Her brow furrowed in confusion despite feeling her nerves, fear and panic settle as the oath was sealed.

"To prove you can trust us, and now, anything you tell us, we can't blab to anyone else, no matter what you say. If you tell us you're planning Dumbledore's death, well, tough look for him because our lips are sealed," shrugged Fred. "We trust you and we know you. No matter the decision you've made, you're not dark or evil. Don't get us wrong, you're vindictive as hell when you wanna be, but you're not evil. And you're one of the most loyal people we've met, so we'd understand if something happened to break it and have you turn elsewhere. There's no point in keeping secrets from us."

She pursed her lips before shifting on her feet. "Can I get dressed first?"

"No, there's nothing wrong with what you're wearing," said George, offering a smile. She scowled at him and pulled the towel tighter. "Now, answer the questions."

"My parents adopted me when I was a baby," she confessed. "I didn't find out until last summer, after the attack. I had dreams about this woman who I later learned to be my deceased mother. She was a Pureblood witch from Albania, she fell pregnant with me and moved to Britain to search for my father. He didn't know about me and she died in childbirth. She gave me his name and after doing some digging, it led me to him."

"And does he know about you now?"

"Yes," she admitted, feeling uncomfortable voicing it for the first time. Aside from Snape and Dumbledore, no one else knew the truth. "I found him during the summer, confronted him. He cast a Lineage Charm and confirmed I'm his daughter."

"Bloody hell," George shook his head. "It's one thing to know but it's another to have it confirmed. Your _Voldemort's daughter_!"

"I'm aware," she responded dryly. "He's not the monster people think he is. Well, he is," she corrected, "But not with me. He's different. He wishes to know about my life and the childhood my parents gave me, he wishes to give me the best education and opportunities possible. He's claimed me as being of his blood but he wishes to keep my identity secret for the time being, for my protection."

"Understandable, you'd have a target on you back bigger than China," Fred agreed before tipping his head. "So, have you swapped sides? Joined his cause?"

"It's complicated," she sighed tiredly. "You know how I am about fighting for the underdog..."

"Yeah, I remember your free the house-elves crusade vividly," George interrupted.

"And I'm trying to sway him away from harming Muggleborns and muggles, but it's not easy. To be honest, I don't think he cares, I think it's only for the sake of the supremacists, to keep their loyalty."

"If anyone can do it, it's you," Fred shrugged.

"I'm not spying on anyone, I have no missions or other focuses. He just wants me to keep my head down and remain top of my class. I've told him I refuse to harm another, I refuse to turn to the dark arts and I refuse to witness anything inappropriate, morally or otherwise. He's promised that I will be kept away from it all."

"Sounds like a swell guy," George remarked. "Really, he just wants to take over the world and keep his little girl in school."

Hermione glared at him fiercely. He merely smirked and arched a challenging eyebrow.

"Look, I never realised how good you were to me over the past few years, and I've only recently noticed. You showed me kindness when no else did. And because you saved my life, I was able to bargain with my father."

"For?" They chorused.

"Your immunity. No matter what happens, you will be protected." They blinked in surprise, sharing an undecipherable look. "It wasn't easy, he forced me to share my memories so he might witness why I believed you were worthy of protection, and he granted me my wish. I did try for the rest of your family," she lied, but they didn't need to know that, "But he wasn't willing to agree to those terms. It was you or nothing at all, and so I chose you."

They watched her silently and it unnerved her.

"I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you and I could've prevented it. So, I risked it all with by bargaining for the immunity of members from a family of known 'blood traitors.' And if I could go back and do it again, I would. I owed it to you."

"You owe us nothing," said George.

"I owe you _everything_ ," she corrected. "You were there for me when I needed someone. You were there when I needed help. It's thanks to you that I finally realised I deserved to be treated better, that I was worth more than Harry and Ron had me believe. You're the ones that said they didn't deserve my loyalty, that I should find someone that did. And that's what I've done. Currently, only three people have it and that is my father and you. I don't know the outcome of the future, I don't know how long it will take for it all to be over, but should my father win, you will be protected and I'll do everything I can to help the others even if they wouldn't show me the same courtesy."

"Because you're not evil," Fred reiterated.

"You know what's ironic? I might never have gone to my father to share with him what I'd learned if it weren't for Dumbledore. At the time, I only knew a name, not the person he'd become. Had Dumbledore showed me kindness rather than push me away and isolate me from the others, I might have stayed loyal to him. He's partially the reason I _have_ a relationship with my father. And you want to know something else? My father isn't responsible for my parent's deaths. Dumbledore is."

"What?" They both blinked in confused disbelief.

"He had them killed and framed my father by having his men cast the Dark Mark and set the house on fire to destroy any evidence," she fibbed. Well, not technically, those had been his plans, but as far as everyone believed, her parents were dead. "I believe it was an attempt to keep me from seeking him out. If I believed he'd killed my parents, I'd want him dead and I wouldn't side with him."

"He wouldn't do that, would he?" Fred's brow furrowed.

"I don't know, Freddie," George shrugged. "You've heard the rumours flying about, and he has been acting shady lately. He's always rattling on about the 'greater good'. I wouldn't put it past him to do some crazy shit like that if it helped his plans along, and losing Miss. Brainbox would be a blow he doesn't need."

"Too late," Fred snorted.

Hermione thought they were taking the news rather well considering they'd just discovered she was technically no longer on their side, which technically made them enemies.

"Anyway, this week's been shitty and it's drained the life out of me. I can't wait until I no longer feel like crap and I've something else to focus on. And since I've nothing more to tell and you're clearly not going to leave my room, I'll find somewhere else to change."

Turning on her heel and stepping from the room, she'd barely made it halfway down the corridor when a hand encircled her wrist and tugged her backwards, her back hitting a solid chest. Peering up and over her shoulder, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"George? What're you doing?"

He peered down at her, his turquoise orbs locking with hers.

"You said you're tired of feeling rubbish? What if I can help?"

"What?"

"I can help make you feel better. I can give you something that will make you forget for a little while."

She sighed, being able to read between the lines. Peering around George, she noted Fred casually leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and one ankle crossed over the other as he quietly watched.

"Aren't you going to reign him in like you usually do?" She asked the other twin.

"No."

Hermione blinked in surprise.

"In fact, I'm in agreement with him." His mouth twitched into a smirk and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

"What?"

"You can't be walking 'round like that and not expect a wizard to react."

"It's _your_ fault I'm like this," she argued.

"So it is," he agreed, pushing away from the wall and slowly approaching, his gaze refusing to leave her as he came to a stop before her.

Hermione barely noticed George's hands slipping down her waist and curling around her hips.

"This makes no sense."

"Why?" George challenged from behind her. "Because you're beautiful? Crazy smart? Wickedly vengeful? We're pranksters, those are the best qualities to have, don't ya know?"

"You want the truth?" Fred lowered his mouth to her ear, his warm breath ghosting across her skin, a shiver racing down her spine and her breath hitching. "We've had a bit of thing for you for years."

"That's not true," she denied.

George snorted. "Love, I've lost count of the number of times I've polished the old broomstick to thoughts of you, if you catch my drift."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up and she swallowed, trying to find her bearings.

"You know, we'd intended on asking you to the Yule Ball? But good old Viktor got there first, we'd hidden behind the bookcases, preparing to pluck up the courage when he beat us to it. Our final year, why do you think we were constantly on your case? It wasn't solely 'cause we wanted your help fixing the recipes for our products... We just wanted to spend more time with you, but you were clueless. We made a few comments in passing over the summer and they went over your head."

"I thought you were joking," she muttered, her eyes falling to the ground, but Fred's hand under her chin forced her to look back to him.

"We never joke when it comes to you. Every comment, compliment and insinuation is meant. It's also why we volunteered. When we heard there was an opportunity to spend more time with you, we jumped at it, even if that does make us terrible people giving the circumstances."

"We care about you," George shrugged.

"And we know you care about us. You wouldn't have risked everything for our protection if you didn't."

"I do care," she confessed quietly. "But nothing can happen."

"Why?"

"He forbid it. If he finds out..."

"He won't," George promised.

"He will, he searches my mind on every visit."

"Is that where you were today?"

"Yes, he wanted to check on my wellbeing after putting my parents to rest."

"Dad of the year," George grumbled. "He's not gonna find out. Let us make you feel better."

She sighed. "Even if I wanted to, I can't."

"Why?" Fred arched an eyebrow, his hand still gently holding her chin, keeping her gaze locked with his.

"He made me take an oath on my magic. I must remain..."

" _Pure_ ," they both guessed.

"Yes, until my wedding night, which he expects to happen before my twenty-first birthday, but unlike most, he is allowing me to choose my own spouse. He does not approve of you. After granting immunity, those were the first words out of his mouth."

"We'd be fabulous sons-in-law," George huffed. "You say that, but I'm not hearing a 'no'."

"I can't."

Fred's mouth twitched into a smirk.

"But you can, Love," George whispered from behind. "There are ways of getting around such vows, you just have to be creative and cunning. You are cunning, aren't you? Isn't that what Slytherins are known for? Correct me if I'm wrong but don't you have Slytherin blood in your veins? How was the vow worded?"

"I do so vow to remain pure until my wedding night," she quoted.

The twins shared a smile, their eyes twinkling.

"You vow to remain _pure_ but not _untouched_. And that gives us options," said Fred. "If you let us, we can flip your world upside, we can change the way you think, we can take you places you've never been before. All you have to do is say yes. If you say no, we'll walk away, leave you alone and never speak of it again."

Her eyes closed and she breathed deeply, their clean scent of soap and citrus filling her nose, minus the usual smoke or potion ingredient aspect.

"Yes."

Her eyes fluttered open and Fred's smile was predatory.

"You're expected to return to Hogwarts on Monday. For this weekend only, you are ours, and only ours."

Taking her hand in his, he tugged her back towards her bedroom, George kicking the door shut behind them and erecting Silencing and Locking wards, just in case.

~000~000~000~

When Monday morning arrived, Hermione stood by the fireplace, waiting for the signal that alerted her she was to take her leave.

She'd developed a new walk, her voice had changed slightly, her posture was different, she saw the world with new eyes, and it was all because of the twins.

Turning away from the fireplace and to the twins, they were both stood by the door, Fred with his arms over his chest and George with his hands in his pockets. They tried to hide it but she could see their sadness and disappointment.

Her expression softening, she approached and pulled them into a hug, their arms folding around her and their noses burying in her neck.

"I'm going to miss you," she admitted quietly. "Thank you. You are the only reason I survived this ordeal, and I owe you everything. Please, be careful. Whilst you might have immunity, there is always a chance of being caught in the crossfire and I shan't be pleased if one of you is injured after the hassle I went through to ensure your protection."

"Same for you, Love," said George. "Be careful and watch out for Dumbledore. If Ron or Ginny bother you, let us know and we'll send them a _special_ package to put them in their place."

"Yeah, no one hurts our girl," Fred agreed.

"And if you need help with a product or a new cooking recipe, send me an owl."

"Will do," they promised.

"We've a few ideas for new products that you've actually inspired," Fred admitted. "We're thinking of dipping our toes into the adult _entertainment_ business. Something that might spice up a relationship."

Hermione laughed softly before she drew back from them, peering over her shoulder to see the flames burst into purple.

"That's my cue," she smiled sadly.

She removed her hands from theirs despite their reluctance to let go and she returned to the floo with her shrunken luggage in hand.

"Thank you," she smiled, it being the last thing they saw before she disappeared into flames of green.

"We've should've told her," said George.

"And what good would that have done?" Challenged Fred. "Her _father_ would never allow it. _Has_ forbidden it."

"We can make her happy," he argued. "She hasn't stopped laughing and smiling all weekend."

"Then we've done what we set out to do. Make her feel better and help her. But that's all we can do."

"I love her," George muttered sadly.

Fred sighed. "And I love her, too, but nothing else can happen. We should be grateful we had the weekend with her and that we got to experience the things we did. And that is all we can have."

"It's not enough."

"I know, but there's nothing that can be done about it. Right now, we have to find a way to move on, let her live her life and we must try to do the same."

"If we'd have plucked up the courage sooner, things might be different."

"Or they might be exactly the same. Regardless, Voldemort is her father and always will be."

When they heard a 'pop' they looked towards the table, spying a note sitting on the surface. Sighing, Fred crossed to it and skimmed the message it held.

"Dumbledore wants debriefing."

"I don't trust him," George scowled furiously.

"Neither do I, but we must do what we can to protect her. Just as she's protected us."


End file.
